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SECOND BASE SLOAN 


BY THE SAME AUTHOR 

PITCHER POLLOCK 
CATCHER CRAIG 
FIRST BASE FAULKNER 
SECOND BASE SLOAN 



■ 






















































The White Boy, the Black Boy, and the Yellow Dog 

(Page 12) 



SECOND BASE SLOAN 


By 

CHRISTY MATHEWSON 

n 

AUTHOR OF “ PITCHER POLLOCK,” “ CATCHER CRAIG,” ETC. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
E. C. CASWELL 



NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 


PUBLISHERS 



Copyright, 1917, by 
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, Ino. 


MAY -2 1917 


©CI.A400563 

I 


CONTENTS 


•HAPTEtt 





PAGE 

I 

TWO BOYS AND A DOG 

• 

• 

• 

3 

II 

JUNE STRIKES A BARGAIN 

• 

• 

• 

13 

III 

THE SEARCH FOR WORK 


• 

• 

28 

IV 

DISPOSSESSED 



• 

44 

V 

WAYNE PARTS WITH SAM 




57 

VI 

THE NEW HOME 



# 

71 

VII 

THE LUCK CHANGES , 



• 

84 

VIII 

WAYNE LOSES A JOB AND 

FINDS ONE 

• 

100 

IX 

BIG TOM MAKES AN OFFER 


• 

118 

X 

NEW FRIENDS 

• 


• 

131 

XI 

THE CHENANGO CLUB 

9 


• 

143 

XII 

MEDFIELD CELEBRATES 




159 

XIII 

WAYNE BEATS OUT THE 

BALL . 

. 

172 

XIV 

“a GENTLEMAN TO SEE MR. 

SLOAN ’ ’ 

• 

186 

XV 

PATTERN GIVES ADVICE 



• 

198 

XVI 

OFF TO HARRISVILLE 


• 


210 

XVII 

TURNED DOWN ! 

# 

• 

• 

225 

XVIII 

‘ ‘badgers’ 9 vs. “billies 

11 

• 

• 

236 

XIX 

WAYNE LENDS A HAND 

• 

• 


250 

XX 

JUNE GOES TO WORK 

# 

• 

« 

263 

XXI 

MR. MILBURN PROMISES 

• 

• 


274 

XXII 

SECOND BASE SLOAN 


• 

• 

287 




/ 






/ 





































\ 








I 






































ILLUSTRATIONS 


The white boy, the black boy, and the yellow 
dog (Page 12) .... Frontispiece'' 

Facing 

pagk 

Wayne’s cry was uttered involuntarily as he 
leaped forward.104 

Every other Medfield adherent made a joyful 
noise.182 

His conviction that he could hit that ball was 
still strong.296 



















SECOND BASE SLOAN 




SECOND BASE SLOAN 


CHAPTER I 

TWO BOYS AND A DOG 

Two boys and a dog sat at the edge of a little 
wood and shiveringly watched the eastern sky 
pale from inky blue to gray. One of the boys 
was white and the other was black; and the dog 
was yellow. The white boy was seventeen years 
old, the black boy sixteen, and the yellow dog— 
well, no one knew just how old he was. The white 
boy’s name was Wayne Torrence Sloan, the black 
boy’s name was Junius Brutus Bartow Tasker, 
and the dog’s name was Sam. An hour ago they 
had been rudely awakened from their sleep in 
a box car and more rudely driven forth into cold 
and darkness and mystery. They had had no 
complaint to make, for they had lain undisturbed 
in the car ever since the middle of the previous 
afternoon; and between that time and an hour 
ago had rumbled and jolted over miles and miles 
of track, just how many miles there was no way 
of telling until, having learned their present 
3 


4 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


whereabouts, Wayne should puzzle out the matter 
of distance on the frayed and tattered time-table 
in his pocket. Travelling as they had travelled, 
on foot or stealing rides when the chance offered, 
makes a philosopher of one, and instead of object¬ 
ing to the fate that had overtaken them when a 
suspicious train hand had flashed his lantern into 
the gloomy recesses of the box car, they had de¬ 
parted hurriedly and in silence, being thankful 
that the exodus had not been forced on them long 
before. 

Minute by minute the sky brightened. The 
steely gray became softer in tone and began to 
flush with a suggestion of rose. The stars paled. 
A wan gleam of approaching daylight fell on one 
burnished rail of the track which lay a few rods 
distant. The trees behind them took on form 
and substance and their naked branches became 
visibly detailed against the sky. The dog whined 
softly and curled himself tighter in Wayne’s arms. 
Wayne stretched the corner of his gray sweater 
over the thin back and eased himself from the 
cramped position against the trunk of a small 
tree. 

“What would you do, June, if someone came 
along about now with a can of hot coffee?” he 
asked, breaking the silence that had lasted for 
many minutes. The negro boy aroused from his 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 5 

half doze and flashed the whites of his eyes in 
the gloom. 

“Mas’ Wayne,” he answered fervently, “I’d 
jus’ about love that Mister Man. M-m-mm! Hot 
coffee! Lawsy-y! You reckon it ever goin’ to 
get lightsome, Mas’ Wayne?” 

“I reckon we can start along pretty soon now, 
June. Whereabouts do you suspect we are?” 

“I reckon we must be gettin’ mighty nigh New 
York. How far was we yesterday?” 

“’Most two hundred and fifty miles. If we’d 
just kept right on going all night we might have 
been in New York right now, but that freight was 
standing still more times than it was moving, I 
reckon. Look yonder, June. Daylight’s surely 
coming, isn’t it?” 

Junius Brutus Bartow Tasker turned an 
obedient gaze toward the east, but his reply was 
pessimistic. A negro who is cold is generally 
pessimistic, and June was certainly cold. Unlike 
Wayne, he had no sweater under his shabby 
jacket, nor was there much of anything else under 
it, for the coarse gingham shirt offered little re¬ 
sistance to the chill of the March night, and June 
and undershirts had long been strangers. Early 
spring in southern Georgia is a different matter 
from the same season up North, a fact which 
neither boy had allowed for. 


6 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

“I reckon Christmas is comm’ too,” muttered 
June gloomily, “but it’s a powerful long way off. 
How come the nights is so long up here, Mas’ 
Wayne?” 

“I reckon there isn’t any difference, not really,” 
answered Wayne. ‘ ‘ They just seem like they were 
longer. Sam, you wake up and stretch yourself. 
We’re going to travel again pretty soon now. 
Go catch yourself a rabbit or something.” 

The dog obeyed instructions so far as stretch¬ 
ing himself was concerned, and, after finding that 
he was not to be allowed to return to the warmth 
of his master’s lap, even set off in a half-hearted, 
shivering fashion to explore the surrounding 
world. 

“I reckon he can projeck ’roun’ a mighty long 
time before he starts a rabbit,” said June dis- 
couragedly. “It’s a powerful mean-lookin’ country 
up this way, ain’ it? What state you-all reckons 
we’s in, Mas’ Wayne?” 

Wayne shook his head. Shaking his head was 
very easy because he only had to let the tremors 
that were agitating the rest of him extend above 
the turned-up collar of his jacket! “I reckon it 
might be Maryland, June. Somewheres around 
there, anyway.” He felt for the time-table in 
his pocket, but he didn’t bring it forth for it was 
still too dark to read. “I ’most wish I was back 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 7 

home, June,” he went on wistfully, after a 
minute’s silence. “I sure do!” 

“I done told you we hadn’t no business cornin’ 
up this yere way. Ain’ nothin’ up here but 
Northerners, I reckon. If we’d gone West like 
I said we’d been a heap better off.” 

“Nobody asked you to come, anyway,” re¬ 
sponded Wayne sharply. “There wasn’t any 
reason for you coming. You—you just butted 
in!” 

As there was no denying that statement, June 
wisely chose to change the subject. “Reckon 
someone’s goin’ to give us some breakfast pretty 
soon?” he asked. 

But Wayne had a grievance now and, feeling a 
good deal more homesick than he had thought he 
ever could feel, and a lot colder and emptier than 
was pleasant, he nursed it. “I couldn’t stay there 
any longer and slave for that man,” he said. “I 
stuck it out as long as I could. Ever since mother 
died it’s been getting worse and worse. He hasn’t 
got any hold on me, anyway. Stepfathers aren’t 
kin. I had a right to run away if I wanted to, and 
he can’t fetch me back, not anyway, not even by 
law!” 

“No, sir, he can’,” agreed June soothingly. 

“But you didn’t have any right to run away, 
June. You-” 




8 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


“How come I ain’?” demanded the negro. 
“He ain’ no kin to me, neither, is he? I was jus’ 
a-workin’ for him. Mister Higgins ain’ got no 
more ’sponsibility about me than he has about 
you, Mas’ Wayne.’ ’ 

“Just the same, June, he can fetch you back if 
he ever catches you.” 

“Can, can he? Let me tell you somethin’. He 
ain’ goin’ to catch me! Nobody ain’ goin’ to 
catch me! Coloured folkses is free an’ inde¬ 
pendent citizens, ain’ they? Ain’ they, Mas’ 
Wayne?” 

“Maybe they’re free,” answered his com¬ 
panion grimly, “but if you get to acting inde¬ 
pendent I’ll just about lick the hide off you! I 
ought to have done it back yonder and sent you 
home where you belong.” 

“I’se where I belong right now,” replied June 
stoutly. “Ain’ we been together ever since we 
was jus’ little fellers, Mas’ Wayne? Wasn’ my 
mammy your mammy’s nigger for years an’ 
years? How come I ain’ got no right here? Ain’ 
my mammy always say to me, 4 You Junius 
Brutus Tasker, you watch out for Young Master 
an’ don’ you ever let no harm come to him, ’cause 
if you do I’ll tan your hide’? Ain’ she always 
tell me that ever since I was so high? What you 
think I was goin’ to do, Mas’ Wayne, when I seen 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


9 


you sneakin’ off that nights Wasn’ but jus’ one 
thing to do, was there? How you ’spects I was 
goin’ to watch out for you like my mammy tells 
me if I didn’ go along with you? Huh? So I 
jus’ track along till you get to the big road, an’ 
then I track along till you get to Summitty, and 
then I track along-” 

“Yes, and you climbed into that freight car 
after me and the man saw you and we all got 
thrown out,” continued Wayne. “I reckon you 
meant all right, June, but what do you suppose 
I’m going to do with you up North here? I got 
to find work to do and it’s going to be hard enough 
to look after Sam here without having a pesky 
darkey on my hands. Best thing you can do is 
hike back home before you starve to death.” 

“Huh! I ain’ never starved to death yet, Mas’ 
Wayne, an’ I ain’ lookin’ to. Jus’ like I told you 
heaps of times, you ain’ got to do no worryin’ 
about June. I reckon I can find me a job of work, 
too, can’ I? Reckon folkses has to plough an’ 
plant an’ pick their cotton up here jus’ like they 
does back home.” 

“There isn’t any cotton in the North, June.” 

“Ain’ no cotton?” ejaculated the other incredu¬ 
lously. “What all they plant up here, then, Mas’ 
Wayne?” 

“Oh, apples, I reckon, and-” 


10 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


“I can pick apples, then. I done pick peaches, 
ain’ I? What else they plant?” 

“Why-” Wayne didn’t have a very clear 

notion himself, but it didn’t do to appear igno¬ 
rant to June. “Why, they—they plant potatoes 
—white potatoes, you know—and—and peas and 
—oh, lots of things, I reckon.” 

June pondered that in silence for a moment. 
Then: “But how come they don’t plant cotton?” 
he asked in puzzled tones. 

“Too cold. It won’t grow for them up here.” 

June gazed rather contemptuously about the 
gray morning landscape and grunted comprehend- 
ingly. “Uh-huh. Reckon I wouldn’t neither if 
I was a cotton plant! It surely is a mighty— 
mighty meaw-lookin’ place, ain’ it?” 

Well, it really was. Before them ran the 
railroad embankment, behind them was the little 
grove of bare trees and on either hand an uncul¬ 
tivated expanse of level field stretched away into 
the gray gloom. No habitation was as yet in 
sight. The telegraph poles showed spectrally 
against the dawn, and a little breeze, rising with 
the rising sun, made a moaning sound in the 
clustered wires. Sam came back from his profit¬ 
less adventures and wormed himself between 
Wayne’s legs. June blew on his cold hands and 
crooned a song under his breath. The eastern sky 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


11 


grew lighter and lighter and suddenly, like a 
miracle, a burst of rose glow spread upward 
toward the zenith, turning the grayness into the 
soft hues of a dove’s breast! Wayne sprang to 
his feet, with an exclamation of pain as his 
cramped and chilled muscles responded to the 
demand, and stretched his arms and yawned 
prodigiously. 

“Come along and let’s find that hot coffee, 
June,” he said almost cheerfully. ‘ 4 There 
must he a house somewhere around here, I 
reckon.” 

“Sure must!” replied the other, falling in¬ 
stantly into Wayne’s humour. “Lawsy-y, I can 
jus’ taste that coffee now! Which way we goin’, 
Mas’ Wayne?” 

Wayne stamped his feet on the still frosty 
ground and considered. At last: “North,” he 
replied, “and north’s over that way. Come 
along!” 

He led the way back toward the track, followed 
by June and Sam, and after squeezing himself 
between the wires of a fence climbed the em¬ 
bankment and set off over the ties with a speed 
born of long practice. The rose hue was fast 
changing to gold now, and long rays of sunlight 
streamed upward heralding the coming of His 
Majesty the Sun; and against the glory of the 


12 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


eastern sky the three travellers stood out like 
animated silhouettes cut from blue-black card¬ 
board as they trudged along—the white boy, the 
black boy, and the yellow dog. 


CHAPTER II 


JUNE STRIKES A BARGAIN 

That they didn’t travel absolutely due north 
was only because the track chose to lead more 
westerly. By the time the sun was really in sight 
they had covered the better part of a half-mile 
and had caught a glimpse of a good-sized town in 
the distance. Tall chimneys and a spire or two 
pointed upward above a smoky haze. They 
crossed a big bridge beneath which flowed a broad 
and sluggish river, and had to flatten themselves 
against the parapet, Sam held tightly in Wayne’s 
arms, while a long freight train pounded past 
them on the single line of track. Beyond the 
bridge a “Yard Limit” sign met them, and the 
rails branched and switches stood up here and 
there like sentries and a roundhouse was near 
at hand. But they found their first habitation 
before that in a tiny white cottage set below the 
embankment, its gate facing a rambling clay road, 
rutted and pitted, that disappeared under a 
bridge. There was a path worn down the bank to 
the road, and Wayne and June and Sam descended 
13 


14 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

it. A trail of smoke arose from the chimney of 
the house straight into the morning sunlight and 
suggested that the occupants were up and about. 

Wayne’s knock on the door was answered by a 
tall, thin, slatternly woman who scowled ques- 
tioningly. 

“Good morning, ma’am,” began Wayne. 
i 1 Could you give us a cup of coffee, please ? We’ve 
been-” 

“Get out of my yard,” was the prompt 
response. “I don’t feed tramps!” 

“We aren’t tramps, ma’am. We’ll pay for the 
coffee-” 

“And steal the doormat! I know your sort!” 
There was no doormat in sight, but Wayne didn’t 
notice the fact. “Go on now before I call my 
man to you.” The door slammed shut. 

Wayne viewed June in surprise and the negro 
boy shook his head helplessly. “She surely is a 
powerful disgrumpled lady, Mas’ Wayne! Yes, 
sir! Reckon we better move along. ’ ’ 

“Maybe she isn’t well,” said Wayne, as they 
left the inhospitable dwelling behind and again 
climbed to the track. “Just the same, she didn’t 
have any right to call us tramps, did she? I 
suppose we’d better keep on to the town, June. 
It isn’t much farther.” 

So they went on, past sidings laden with long 



SECOND BASE SLOAN 


15 


lines of freight cars, past locomotives sizzling 
idly, past a crossing where eight burnished rails, 
aglow in the sunlight, crossed their path, under a 
big signal tower, their eyes very busy and their 
stomachs, since they had not eaten since early the 
preceding afternoon, very empty. A long freight 
shed was reached, and as they passed it one of the 
many doors slid slowly open and a brawny man 
stood revealed against the dimness beyond. He 
stretched his arms, yawned, caught sight of 
the passers and stood there, framed in the 
square opening, staring interestedly. Wayne 
stopped. 

“Howdy,” he said. “Can you tell me where 
I can get something to eat, sir?” 

“Sure! Cross over back of the yellow building 
and you ’ll see a lunch-wagon. Maybe you ’re look¬ 
ing for the hotel, though?” 

Wayne shook his head. “I reckon a lunch- 
wagon’s good enough. What is this place, 
please?” 

“Medfield, son. Aren’t lost, are you?” 

“No, sir. What—what state are we in?” 

“Pennsylvania. What state might you be look¬ 
ing for, son?” 

“New York. Is it very far?” 

“Second state on the right,” laughed the man. 
“What part of it are you aiming for?” 


16 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


“New York City, I reckon. How far would that 
be?” 

“About a hundred and fifty miles.” 

Wayne sighed. ‘ ‘ I thought we were nearer than 
that. Thank you, sir.” 

“Say, hold on! Where’d you come from, any¬ 
way?” 

Wayne pointed a thumb over his shoulder. 
“Back there a ways,” he answered vaguely. 

“Tramping it?” 

“Yes, sir, some. Rode on the cars, too.” 

The big man in the doorway winked down at 
him. “When they didn’t see you, eh? You look 
like a smart kid. What are you beating your way 
around the country for? Why don’t you get a 
job and go to work?” 

“I’m looking for work,” answered Wayne 
eagerly. “Know where I can find some?” 

The man shrugged his shoulders. i ‘ I guess you 
won’t have to look very far, son, if you really 
want a job. The trouble with your sort is that 
you don’t want to work. How far south do you 
come from?” 

‘ 4 Georgia, sir. How’d you know ? ’ ’ 

“How’d I know!” laughed the man. “That’s 
a good one! What’s Friday’s name?” 

“What, sir?” asked Wayne, puzzled. 

The man nodded at Wayne’s compan- 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 17 

ion. “What’s his name! Abraham Lincoln 
White!” 

“June,” answered Wayne, a trifle stiffly, be¬ 
ginning to suspect that the man was laughing at 
him. 

“June, eh! Say, he got North about three 
months too soon, didn’t he! Where’d you get the 
alligator hound! Don’t you ever feed him any¬ 
thing!” 

Wayne moved away, followed by his retinue, but 
the man in the door was blind to offended dignity. 
“All right, son!” he called after them. “Good 
luck! Tell Denny that Jim Mason sent you and 
that he’s to give you a good feed.” 

Wayne found the lunch-w^agon without diffi¬ 
culty, but it didn’t seem to him that it deserved 
the name of wagon for it was set on a brick 
foundation in a weed-grown piece of land under 
the shadow of the big yellow factory and looked 
as though it had been there for many years. 
Still, there might be wheels hidden behind the 
bricks, he reflected. The words “Golden Star 
Lunch” were painted on the front. They climbed 
the steps and seated themselves on stools, while 
Sam searched famishedly about the floor for stray 
crumbs. The proprietor was a short, chunky 
youth with light hair slicked down close and a 
generous supply of the biggest and reddest 


18 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

freckles Wayne had ever seen. He observed June 
doubtfully. 

“We don’t generally feed niggers here,” he 
said. “You two fellers together?” 

“Yes,” answered Wayne. “If you don’t want 
to serve him we’ll get out.” He started to slide 
off the stool. 

“Oh, well, never mind,” said the white-aproned 
youth. “The rush is over now. What’ll you 
have?” 

“Coffee and two ham sandwiches, please.” 

“Mas’ Wayne,” said June, “I’d rather have a 
piece of that sweet-potato pie yonder, please, sir.” 

“That ain’t sweet-potato pie,” laughed the 
proprietor. “That’s squash, Snowball.” 

“Please, sir, Mister, don’t call me out of my 
name,” begged June earnestly. “My name’s 
Junius.” 

“All right, Junius.” The proprietor of the 
lunch-wagon grinned at Wayne and winked, but 
Wayne only frowned. 

“You’ll have a sandwich, June,” he said. 
“Pie isn’t good for you. Two ham sandwiches, 
please.” 

“All right, sir.” 

June watched wistfully while the knife slipped 
through the end of the ham, and at last hunger got 
the better of manners. “Mister Denny, sir, would 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 19 

you please, sir, just bear down a little heavier on 
that fat meat?” he requested. 

“Sure, you can have all the fat you want. 
How’d you know my name, though?” 

Wayne answered for him. “A man at the 
freight shed directed us.” 

“Yes, sir, and he said we was to tell you to give 
us a mighty good feed, Mister Denny,” added 
June. “But I reckon you-all goin’ to do that 
anyway, ain’ you?” 

The proprietor laughed as he covered two 
slices of buttered bread with generous slices of 
ham. “That’s right, Snow—I mean Junius,” he 
responded. “If that ain’t enough you come back. 
Want something for your dog?” 

“Thanks, I’ll give him some of my sandwich,” 
said Wayne, trying not to look impatient. 

“You don’t need to.” The man scooped up 
some trimmings from the ham on the blade of the 
broad knife, dumped them on a slice of bread and 
leaned over the counter. “Here you are, Bingo. 
Catch!” Sam caught as much as he could and it 
disappeared as though by magic. After that he 
licked up the few scraps that had got away from 
him, wagged his tail delightedly, and gazed in¬ 
quiringly and invitingly up again. “Say, he’s a 
smart dog, ain’t he?” said the man. “What’s his 
name?” 


20 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


‘ ‘ Sam. Are those sandwiches ready, please ?’ ’ 

“Huh! Gee, didn’t I serve you yet! What do 
you know about that! Coffee, you said, didn’t 
you! Here you are.” He went back to an ap¬ 
praisal of the dog while Wayne and June, side 
by side, drank deep draughts of the hot coffee and 
bit huge mouthfuls from the delicious sandwiches. 
“Guess some more breakfast wouldn’t bust him,” 
said the proprietor, cutting off another slice of 
bread and buttering it liberally. ‘ ‘ Can he do any 
tricks!” 

“A few,” replied Wayne rather inarticulately 
by reason of having his mouth occupied by other 
things than words. “Sit up, Sam, and ask for 
it.” 

Sam sat up, a trifle unsteadily, and barked three 
shrill barks. The man laughed. “Good boy! 
Here you are, then!” The piece of bread dis¬ 
appeared instantly. “Say, he’s sure hungry! 
What kind of a dog is he ? ” 

“Beckon he’s just dog,” answered Wayne. 
“He don’t boast of his family much, Sam don’t, 
but he’s a good old chap.” 

“Man over yonder at the railroad called him a 
alligator hound,” said June resentfully. “That’s 
the best dog in Colquitt County, Mister Denny. 
Yes, sir!” 

“Where’s that, Junius!” 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


21 


“Colquitt? That’s where we lives at when 
we’re to home. Colquitt County’s the finest-” 

“Shut up, June. Don’t talk so much,” said 
Wayne. “Sam, stand up and march for the 
gentleman. Come on! Forward! March!” 

Sam removed his appealing gaze from the 
countenance of “Mister Denny,” sighed—you 
could actually hear that sigh!—reared himself on 
his slender hind legs and stepped stiffly down the 
length of the floor and hack again. 

“Halt!” commanded Wayne, and Sam halted so 
suddenly that he almost went over backward. 
1 i Salute! ’ ’ Sam’s right paw flopped up and down 
in a sketchy salute. 6c Fall out! ’ ’ Sam came down 
on all-fours with alacrity, barked his relief and 
again took up his station under the good-natured 
“Mr. Denny.” The latter applauded warmly. 

“Some dog you’ve got there, kid!” he declared. 
“What’ll you take for him?” 

“I wouldn’t sell him,” answered Wayne, wash¬ 
ing down the last of his sandwich with the final 
mouthful of coffee. 

“Give you ten dollars,” said the man. 

Wayne shook his head with decision. 

“Fifteen? Well, any time you do want to sell 
him, Mister, you give me first chance, will you? 
He’s going to have some more breakfast for that 
stunt.” 


22 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


“Mas’ Wayne,” said June softly, “I ain’ never 
eat any of that squash pie, an* it surely does look 
powerful handsome, don’ it?” 

“You still hungry?” frowned Wayne. 

“I ain’ downright hungry,” answered June 
wistfully, “but I—I surely would act awful kind 
to a piece of that pie!” 

“All right,” said Wayne. “How much is pie, 
sir?” 

“Five cents. Want some?” 

“Please. A slice of the squash.” 

The proprietor, too busy with Sam to 
have heard the exchange, set the pie in front 
of Wayne, and the latter pushed it along to 
June. 

“Did you say two pieces?” asked the man, 
poising his knife. 

“No, thank you.” 

June looked uncertainly from the tempting 
yellow triangle on the plate before him to Wayne 
and back again. “Ain’ you-all goin’ to have no 
pie?” he asked. Wayne shook his head. June 
laid down the fork and sniffed doubtfully. “What 
kind of pie you say this is, Mister Denny?” he 
asked. 

“Huh? Squash pie.” 

“Uh-huh. I reckon I don’ care for it, thanky, 
sir. It don’ smell like I thought it would.” 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 23 

“Don’t be a fool!” whispered Wayne. “I don’t 
want any.” 

“Say you don’! I ain’ believin’ it, though. 
Please, Mas’ Wayne, you have a half of it. It’s 
a powerful big piece of pie.” 

‘ ‘ Lots more here, ’ ’ said the proprietor. ‘ ‘ Want 
another piece!” 

“No, thanks,” answered Wayne. “I—maybe 
I’ll take a bite of his.” 

The man’s reply to this was a quick slash of his 
knife and a second section of the squash pie slid 
across the counter. “My treat,” he said. “Try 
it. It’s good pie.” 

Wayne hesitated. “I don’t think I want any,” 
he muttered. “I’m not hungry.” 

“You eat it if you don’t want me to get mad at 
you,” said the other, levelling the knife at him 
sternly. “If you can’t eat it all give it to Sam. 
I’ll bet you he likes pie, eh, Sammy!” 

Wayne smiled and, to June’s vast relief, ate. 
Perhaps he wasn’t hungry and perhaps it was 
mere politeness that caused him to consume every 
last crumb, but he had the appearance of one in 
thorough enjoyment of his task. When both 
plates were cleaned up Wayne dug a hand into a 
pocket. 

“How much do we owe you, please!” he asked. 

“Twenty cents. The pie was on me.” 


24 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


“I’d rather—rather-” Wayne’s remark 

dwindled to silence and he began an anxious 
search of all his pockets, a proceeding that 
brought a look of suspicion into the good-natured 
face of the man behind the counter. 

“Lost your money!” asked the latter with a 
trace of sarcasm. 

Wayne nodded silently. “I reckon I must 
have,” he muttered, turning out one pocket after 
another and assembling the contents on the 
counter; the tattered time-table, a toothbrush, a 
pair of stockings, two handkerchiefs, a knife, a 
pencil, some string, and two-cent stamp vastly 
the worse for having laid crumpled up in a vest 
pocket for many weeks. “It—it’s gone,” said 
Wayne blankly. “I had nearly four dollars last 
night, didn’t I, June!” 

“Yes, sir, you certainly did, Mas’ Wayne, 
’cause I seen it. Where you reckon you lost it!” 

“I don’t know,” answered the other boy 
miserably. “It was in this pocket. I reckon it 
must have come out in the freight car. ’ ’ 

The proprietor of the lunch wagon frowned. It 
was an old game to him, but there was something 
apparently genuine in the troubled expressions of 
both boys and he was almost inclined to accept 
the story. At all events, it was only twenty cents, 
and he was good-hearted and the two youngsters 


25 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 

looked rather down on tlieir luck. “Well, never 
mind,” he said carelessly. “You can pay me 
some other time, kids.” 

But Wayne shook his head. ‘ 1 You—you haven’t 
any money, have you, June?” he faltered. June 
shook his head sadly. 

“I didn’t have hut two bits, Mas’ Wayne, and 
I went an’ spent that long time ago . 9 9 

“You see,” said Wayne, turning to the pro¬ 
prietor, “we don’t live here. We’re just—just 
passing through on our way to New York, and so 
we couldn’t very well pay you later.” He looked 
dubiously at the array of property before him. 
“I reckon there ain’t anything there worth twenty 
cents, is there?” 

“Not to me, I guess.” 

“Then—then you’ll just have to keep Sam until 
we can bring the money,” said Wayne desper¬ 
ately. “I reckon we can earn it somewhere. Will 
you please to do that, sir?” 

The man looked covetously at the dog, but shook 
his head. “Shucks,” he answered, “he’d only be 
unhappy. And so would you, I guess. You run 
along, fellers. It’s all right. I guess you’ll pay 
me when you can, eh? Only—say, now, honest, 
kid, did you really have that four dollars, or are 
you just stringing me?” 

Wayne flushed but met the man’s gaze 


[26 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

squarely. “I had it,” he replied simply. 4 ‘You 
haven’t any call to think I’m lying.” 

“All right! I believe you. Now, look here, do 
you really want to earn a half-dollar?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Ever washed windows?” 

Wayne shook his head. “No, but I reckon I 
could do it.” 

“Well, these windows need washing pretty 
badly. Generally I do it myself, but I’d rather 
take a lickin’. There’s eight of ’em and it ought 
to be worth five cents a window. That’s forty 
cents, but we’ll call it fifty. What do you say?” 

“I’ll do them, thanks, and mighty glad to,” 
answered Wayne eagerly. 

“Huh!” ejaculated June. “Go on away from 
here, Mas’ Wayne. You ain’ never washed no 
window in your life. White man, point me out to 
water and rags and let me to it. Mas’ Wayne ain’ 
never done no work like that an’ there ain’ no call 
for him to do any.” June paused and looked at 
the windows. “Mister Denny, them’s pretty big 
windows an’ they certainly is dirty, ain’ they?” 

4 4 What’s the matter with you ? Ain’t fifty cents 
enough?” 

“Well, sir,” answered June slowly, “it is an’ it 
ain’. Takin’ into estimation the size of them 
windows an’ the ’mount of washin’ required, sir, 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 27 

it seems like you might throw in two more cups 
of that yere coffee, sir!” 

“Junius, you’re all right!” laughed the man, 
turning to the gleaming coffee urn. “It’s a bar¬ 
gain. Drink your coffee and then get to work. 
If you do a good job I’ll throw in a sandwich when 
you’re through!” 


CHAPTER III 


THE SEAECH FOE WOEK 

Two hours later the boys, followed by Sam, left 
the lunch-wagon, possessed of thirty cents in 
money and with all liabilities discharged. Wayne, 
declaring that, although he had never washed a 
window in his life, it was time he learned how, had, 
to June’s disgust, taken a hand in the work, and, 
while he had done only three windows to June ? s 
five, had proved his ability. Afterward, Mr. 
Dennis Connor—for that, as they later learned, 
was his real name—had provided a collation of 
sandwiches and coffee and dismissed them with 
his good wishes and an invitation to drop in again 
when they were passing. 

It was mid-morning now, and the sunshine had 
warmed the early March day to a temperature 
more kindly than any they had experienced for 
a week. Wayne led the way to a sheltered nook 
in the lee of an empty shed near the railroad 
and seated himself on a discarded wheelbarrow. 
June followed suit and Sam began an excited 
search for rats. The town was wide-awake and 
28 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


29 


very busy now. Smoke poured from neighbour¬ 
ing stacks and chimneys and the roar of ma¬ 
chinery came to them from the big factory close 
by. Trains passed and locomotives shrieked and 
clanged their brazen bells. Drays and trucks 
moved noisily along the cobbled street in the 
direction of the freight yard, piled high with 
goods in bales and boxes. 

“Reckon/’ said June, “this is a right smart 
town, Mas’ Wayne.” 

Wayne nodded. He was still regretting the loss 
of his money and now he reverted to the question 
of how and where he had parted from it. They 
discussed it at some length and eventually decided 
that it had somehow got out of his pocket last 
night in the freight car. To be quite, quite certain 
that it was really gone, Wayne once more emptied 
his pockets and turned them all inside out. But 
the money was not there and June shook his kinky 
head in silent sympathy. Sam gave up his rat 
hunt and threw himself, panting, in the sunlight 
at the boys’ feet. 

“Well, it’s gone,” said Wayne finally. “And 
there’s no use crying about it. But what I want 
to know is how we’re to get to New York on thirty 
cents. That man said it was about a hundred and 
fifty miles and I reckon it’ll take us ’most a week, 
don’t you?” 


30 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


‘ 4 Depends, ’ ’ said June. “ If we ’s lucky and gets 
plenty of free rides-” 

“They’re too particular around here,” inter¬ 
rupted Wayne sadly. “I reckon it’ll be mighty 
hard to get into freight cars after this, June. 
We’ll just have to foot it, and thirty cents won’t 
last long on the road. Folks ain’t awfully hospi¬ 
table up North, I’ve heard, and we can’t depend 
on getting meals free. Anyway, I don’t want to. 
It’s too much like begging. That man as much 
as called us tramps, and that woman said we 
were tramps. Well, we aren’t. We’ve paid for 
everything anyone would let us pay for, so far, 
excepting the rides we stole, and those don’t count, 
I reckon. Seems to me like the only thing to 
do now, June, is to stay right here and earn 
some money before we go any further. There’s 
no use trying to walk to New York with only 
thirty cents.” 

June agreed cheerfully enough to that proposi¬ 
tion. After all, it made little difference to him. 
New York City or Medfield, it was all one. To 
be sure, they had started out for New York, but 
it was Wayne who had settled on that place as 
their destination, and June would have been just 
as well satisfied if Wayne had decided for Reykja¬ 
vik, Iceland. Besides, it was now almost three 
weeks since they had stolen away from Sleepers- 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


31 


ville, Georgia, and June’s first enthusiasm for 
wandering had faded sadly. In short, the idea of 
remaining stationary in one place for a while 
struck him as being very attractive. And per¬ 
haps the same thought came to Wayne, for, having 
reached the decision, he sighed as if with relief. 
It may have been, probably was, merely a coinci¬ 
dence, but Sam, stretched flat on the ground at 
Wayne’s feet, echoed the sigh. 

Perhaps no better opportunity will present it¬ 
self for a study of our hero and his companions 
and so we will make the most of it. Wayne 
Sloan was seventeen years old; to be exact, 
seventeen years and nineteen days. It had been 
the arrival of his seventeenth birthday that had 
decided him to cast off the yoke of thraldom and 
become his own master. He was a capable-looking 
youth, fairly large for his age. He had wide 
shoulders and carried himself straightly, a fact 
largely due, I fancy, to many hours spent in the 
saddle in his younger days. After the death of 
his mother, which had occurred four years ago, 
there had been neither saddle nor horse for him, 
nor, had there been a horse, would there have been 
opportunity for riding. His stepfather had his 
own notions regarding the proper occupations for 
a boy, notions that were at wide variance with 
Wayne’s. Handsome the boy was not, but you 


32 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


would have called him nice-looking. You’d have 
liked his eyes, which were so deeply brown that 
they seemed black, and the oval smoothness of 
his face which lacked the colourlessness of so 
many Southern faces. His hair was fully as dark 
as his eyes and as straight as an Indian’s, and 
just now, by reason of not having been cut for 
a month or so, was rather untidy about ears and 
neck. His nose was—well, it was just a plain, 
everyday affair, meriting no especial mention. 
And his mouth was no more remarkable. In fact, 
there was nothing to emphasise, from head to 
toes. He was just a nice-appearing, well-built 
Southern boy. At present his appearance was 
rather handicapped by his attire, for even the 
best of clothes will look shabby after nearly three 
weeks of dusty roads and dirty box cars, and 
Wayne’s apparel had not been anything to brag 
about in the beginning. A pair of gray trousers 
that only the most charitable would have called 
woolen, a vest of the same, a coat of blue serge, 
and a gray sweater comprised the more important 
part of his outfit. A black felt hat of the Fedora 
variety, ridiculously old-looking for the boyish 
face beneath, dark-blue cotton socks showing 
above a pair of rusty, dusty, scuffed-toed shoes, 
and a wispy blue string tie peering from under 
the wrinkled collar of a blue-and-white cotton 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 33 

shirt completed as much of his wardrobe as met 
the world’s gaze. 

But in the matter of wardrobe Wayne at least 
had the better of his companion. Junius Brutus 
Bartow Tasker was never a dandy. Just some¬ 
thing to cover him up more or less was all June 
asked. His shoes, which had been new just before 
the beginning of the present pilgrimage, were the 
most presentable item of his attire. They only 
needed blacking. The other things he wore needed 
about everything, including patches, buttons, and 
cleaning! His cheap cotton trousers would have 
proved an embarrassment to anyone of a less 
philosophical nature, his shirt was sadly torn and 
his coat—well, that coat had been a wreck a year 
ago and had not improved any since! Between 
the tops of his shoes and the frayed bottoms of 
his trousers appeared a crinkled expanse of gray 
yarn socks, to the public all that socks should 
be, but to June only two hollow mockeries. Below 
his ankle bones lay ruin and desolation. On his 
kinky head was a brown felt, or what had once 
been a brown felt. It no longer deserved serious 
consideration as a head covering. But all this 
didn’t bother June much. As I have already 
hinted, he was a philosopher, and a cheerful one. 
You had only to look at him to realise that. He 
had a perfectly round face, as round as a cannon 


34 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


ball—and lots blacker—a pair of merry brown 
eyes which rolled ludicrously under the stress of 
emotion, a wide, vividly red mouth filled with 
startlingly white teeth, a nose no flatter than was 
appropriate to one of his race, and ears that stood 
out inquiringly at right angles. He looked and 
was intelligent, and, barring the colour of his skin, 
was not greatly different in essentials from the 
white boy beside him. June was sixteen, as near 
as he could tell; his mother’s memory for ages 
was uncertain, and June couldn’t consult his 
father on the question for the simple reason that 
his father had disappeared very soon after June’s 
arrival in the world. Besides, there were five 
other youthful Taskers, some older and some 
younger, and June’s mother might well be ex¬ 
cused for uncertainty as to the exact age of any 
one of them. 

We have left only one member of the trio to be 
described, and his outward appearance may be 
told in few words. Sam was small, yellowish and 
alert. He had been intended for a fox terrier, 
perhaps, but had received the wrong colouring. 
In Missouri or Mississippi he would have been 
labelled “fice,” which is equivalent to saying that 
he was a terrier-like dog of no particular breed. 
But like many of his sort, Sam made up for his 
lack of aristocracy by possessing all the virtues 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 35 

that one demands in a dog. That small head of 
his contained a brain that must have felt abso¬ 
lutely crowded! I dare say that that is the way the 
Lord makes it up to little, no-account yellow dogs 
like Sam. He gives them big brains and big 
hearts, and so they get through life without ever 
feeling the want of blue ribbons on their collars. 
It would, I think, have been a frightful shock to 
Sam if anyone had tied a ribbon on him, blue or 
any other colour ! He wouldn’t have approved a 
bit. In fact, he would have been most unhappy 
until he had gotten it otf and tried the taste of it. 
So far no one had ever attempted such an indig¬ 
nity. Even a collar was something that Sam had 
his doubts about. When he had one he put up with 
it uncomplainingly, but you could see that it 
didn’t make him a bit happier. Just now he 
wore a leather strap about his neck. It had once 
been used to hold Wayne’s schoolbooks together, 
but Sam didn’t know that, and wouldn’t have 
cared if he had. I forgot to say that a perfectly 
good tail had been early sacrificed to the dictates 
of an inhuman fashion, and that now only a scant 
two inches remained. To see Sam wag that two 
inches made you realise what a perfectly glorious 
time he could have had with the whole appendage 
had it been left to him. Sometimes in moments 
of strong mental excitement his keen, affectionate 


36 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


brown eyes seemed trying to say something like 
that! But my few words have grown too many, 
and I find that I have devoted nearly as much 
space to Sam as to his master. But as Sam is 
not likely to .receive much attention hereafter let 
us not begrudge it to him. 

Meanwhile Wayne had laid his plans. If thirty 
cents was not sufficient to finance the journey to 
New York, neither was it sufficient to provide 
food and lodging for them indefinitely in Medfield. 
Consequently, it behooved them to add to that 
sum by hook or by crook, and it was decided that 
they should begin right away and look for work 
to do. With that object in view they presently 
left the sunny side of the little shed and set off, 
Wayne and Sam in one direction and June in 
another, to reassemble at twilight. Wayne 
wanted June to take ten of the precious thirty 
cents to buy luncheon with, but June scoffed. 4 4 1 
don’t need no ten cents, Mas’ Wayne,” 
he declared. 44 I can find me somethin’ to eat 
without no ten cents. An’ I don’t need nothin’ 
else, anyhow, not before night. I’m jus’ plumb 
full of food now!” 

Wayne’s experiences that day were dishearten¬ 
ing. Medfield was a town of nearly thirty 
thousand inhabitants, but not one of that number, 
it appeared, was in need of Wayne’s services, 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 37 

nor cared whether he lived or starved. He made 
his way to the centre of the town and visited store 
after store, and office after office, climbing many 
weary flights and knocking at many inhospitable 
doors while Sam waited outside in patient resig¬ 
nation. At noon Wayne lunched in a shabby and 
none-too-clean little restaurant on five cents’ worth 
of beef stew and two pieces of bread, feeling a bit 
panicky as he did so, because five from thirty left 
only what June would have called “two bits” and 
Wayne a quarter, and which, no matter what you 
called it, was a frighteningly small amount of 
money to have between you and nothing. But 
he felt a heap better after that stew and went 
back to his task with more courage. Sam felt 
better, too, for he had had a whole slice of bread 
dipped in gravy and a nice gristley bone. 

The trouble was that when, as happened very 
infrequently, to be sure, but did happen, he was 
asked what he could do he had to answer either 
“Anything” or “Nothing.” Of course he chose 
to say “Anything,” but the result was always 
disappointing. As one crabbed, much-bewhiskered 
man in a hardware store told him, “Anything 
means nothing.” After that Wayne boldly pre¬ 
sented himself at the busy office of a dry-goods 
emporium and offered himself as a bookkeeper. 
It was more a relief than a disappointment when 


38 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


the dapper man in charge informed him, after a 
dubious examination of his attire, that there was 
no present vacancy. Wayne was conscious of the 
amused glances of the men at the desks as he 
hurried out. It was almost dusk when he finally 
gave up and turned his steps toward the deserted 
shed near the railway. He had trouble in finding 
it, walking many blocks out of his way and for a 
space fearing that darkness would overtake him 
before he reached it. In the end it was Sam who 
kept him from making a second mistake, for 
Wayne was for passing the shed a block away 
until the dog’s insistence on turning down a dim, 
cobble-paved street brought the search to an end. 

June was already on hand, squatting comfort¬ 
ably on the wheelbarrow and crooning to himself 
in the twilight. Sam showed his delight in the 
reunion by licking June’s face while Wayne dis- 
couragedly lowered himself to a seat at the 
darkey’s side. 

“Any luck?” he asked tiredly. 

“Nothin’ permanent, Mas’ Wayne, but I done 
earned us another two bits. This is a right smart 
town, this is. Nobody don’t have to go hungry in 
this town, no, sir!” 

Wayne tried to keep the envy out of his voice 
as he answered: “That’s great, June. How did 
you do it?” 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


39 


“Man was rollin’ barrels up a board to a wagon 
and every time be got a barrel half-way up the 
board his horses would start a-movin’ off an’ he’d 
jus’ have to drop that barrel an’ run to their 
heads. I ask him, ‘Please, sir, don’t you want me 
to hold ’em for you?’ An’ he ’lowed he did. An’ 
I say, ‘How much you goin’ to give me, sir?’ 
And he say if I hold ’em till he got his wagon 
loaded he’d give me a quarter. ’Twan’t no time 
till he had the barrels on an’ I had his ol’ quarter 
in my jeans. Then I see a fun^y little man with 
gold rings in his ears sittin’ on a step sellin’ 
candy, an’ funny twisty pieces of bread an’ 
apples, an’ things. An’ I say to him, ‘How much 
are your apples, Boss?’ An’ he say, ‘They’re two 
for five cents.’ ‘Huh,’ I say, ‘they give ’em poor 
old apples away where I come from.’ An’ he 
want to know where was I come from, an’ I tell 
him, an’ we had a right sociable time a-talkin’ an’ 
all, an’ pretty soon he find a apple had a rotten 
spot on it an’ give it to me. An’ after a while I 
say, ‘Boss, what you-all call them funny, curly 
things you got on that stick?’ An’ he ’lows they’s 

—they’s-” June wrinkled his forehead until 

it had almost as many corrugations as a wash¬ 
board—“I reckon I forget what he call them, 
Mas’ Wayne.” 

“What were they like, June?” 


40 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


4 ‘ Well, sir, they was bow-knots made of bread, 
an’ they tasted mighty scrumptious. Seems like 
they was called 4 pistols ’ or somethin ’.” 

“Pretzels, June?” 

“That’s it! Pretzels! You know them things, 
Mas’ Wayne?” Wayne shook his head. “Well, 
sir, they’s mighty good eatin\” 

“Did he give you one?” asked Wayne smiling. 

“Yes, sir, he surely did. I say I ain’ never eat 
one an’ he say if I have a penny I could have 
one. 4 Go long, Mister Man,’ I say, ‘I ain’ got no 
penny. How come you ’spects I got all that 
money?’ An’ he laugh an’ say, ‘Well, maybe I 
give you one, Black Boy, if you don’ tell some¬ 
one elses.’ He had funny way of talkin’, that 
man. So I say I won’t ever tell-” 

“But you have told,” laughed Wayne. 

June rolled his eyes. “That’s so! I plumb 
forget!” 

“Was that all the lunch you had?” asked 
Wayne. 

June nodded. “Was all I wanted,” he declared 
stoutly. “Apples is powerful tillin’ fruit, Mas’ 
Wayne. What-all did you have?” 

Wayne told him and June pretended to think 
very little of it. “That ain’ white man’s food,” 
he declared. “Old stewed-up beef ain’ fit rations 
for you. No, sir, ’tain’! Don’t you go insultin’ 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


41 


your stomach like that no more, Mas’ Wayne, 
’cause if you do you’re goin’ to be sick an’ me an’ 
Sam’ll have to nurse you. Now you tell me 
what-all did you do, please.” 

Wayne soon told him and June shook his head 
and made sympathetic noises in his throat during 
the brief recital. “Don’t you mind ’em, Mas’ 
Wayne,” he said when the other had finished. 
“Somebody’s goin’ to be powerful glad to give 
you a job tomorrow. You wait an’ see if they 
ain’.” 

“I can’t do anything, I’m afraid,” said Wayne 
despondently. “They all ask me what I can do 
and I have to tell them ‘Nothing.’ I can’t even 
wash windows decently!” 

“W T ho say you can do nothin’?” demanded 
June indignantly. “I reckon you’re a heap 
smarter than these yere Northerners! Ain’ you 
been to school an’ learn all about everythin’? 
Geography an’ ’rithmatie an’ algebrum an’ all? 
What for you say you don’ know nothin’?” 

Wayne laughed wanly. “Arithmetic and those 
things aren’t much use to a fellow, it seems to me, 
when he’s looking for work. If I’d learned book¬ 
keeping I might get a job.” 

“You done kep’ them books for your step- 
daddy.” 

“That wasn’t real bookkeeping, June. Any- 


42 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


one could do that. The only things I can do aren’t 
much use up here; like ride and shoot a little 
and-■” 

“An’ knock the leather off’n a baseball,” added 
June. 

“I guess no one’s going to pay me for doing 
that,” commented Wayne, with a smile. “Well, 
there’s no use borrowing trouble, I reckon. There 
must be something I can do, June, and I’ll find it 
sooner or later. I reckon I made a mistake in 
going around to the offices. If I’d tried the ware¬ 
houses and factories I might have found some¬ 
thing. That’s what I’ll do tomorrow.” 

“You goin’ to set yourself some mighty hard 
work, Mas’ Wayne, if you get foolin’ ’roun’ the 
factories. Better leave that kind of work for me, 
sir. That’s nigger work, that is.” 

“It’s white men’s work up here in the North, 
June. I’m strong enough and I’m willing, and 
I’m just going to find something tomorrow. 
Question now is, June, where are we going to 
get our supper and where are we going to sleep? 
Fifty cents will buy supper but it won’t buy beds, 
too.” 

“I been thinkin’ about that sleepin’ business,” 
answered June. “I reckon we can’ do no better 
than stay right where we is.” 

‘ ‘ Here ? ’ ’ asked Wayne. ‘ 4 Someone would come 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 43 

along and arrest us or something. Besides, a 
wheelbarrow-’ ’ 

“No, sir, I don’ mean out here. I mean in 
yonder.’’ June nodded toward the old shed be¬ 
side them. “I was projeckin’ roun’ before you-all 
come back an’ there ain’ nothin’ wrong with this 
yere little house, Mas’ Wayne.” 

“Oh,” said Wayne. “Is it empty?” 

“Yes, sir, it surely is empty. There ain’ nothin’ 
in there but empty. It ’pears like it used to be a 
store, ’cause there’s shelves up the walls. An’ 
there’s a floor, too.” 

“Do we sleep on the floor or the shelves?” 
. asked Wayne. 

“Shelves 'is too narrow,” chuckled June. “If 
we jus ’ had a blanket or two, now, I reckon we’d 
be mighty comfortable.” 

“Might as well wish for a bed with a hair 
mattress and pillows and sheets,” answered 
Wayne. “But I’d rather sleep under a roof to¬ 
night than outdoors, so we’ll just be glad of the 
shed, June. Now let’s go and find us some supper. 
Come on, Sam, you rascal!” 


CHAPTER IV 


DISPOSSESSED 

If one is tired enough such luxuries as beds and 
blankets may be dispensed with. Wayne and June 
slept more uninterruptedly that night than for 
many nights past. Toward morning they were 
conscious of the cold, for Wayne’s coat and an 
old gunny-sack discovered in a corner of the shed 
were not sufficient to more than cover their feet 
and legs. Sam, curled up in Wayne’s arms, doubt¬ 
less fared better than the boys. When morning 
came they were stiff and achy and were glad 
enough to get up at the first signs of sunrise and 
move around. The want of a place to wash re¬ 
sulted in the discovery of a veritable haven of 
warmth and rest, for Wayne, peering about from 
the front of the shed, descried the railroad sta¬ 
tion only a few blocks down the track, and toward 
that they made their way. They found the wait¬ 
ing-room door unlocked and warmth and comfort 
inside. After washing up they settled themselves 
on a bench removed from the sight of the ticket 
window and fairly luxuriated in the warmth. 

44 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


45 


June fell asleep again and snored so loudly that 
Wayne had to arouse him for fear that someone 
would hear him and drive them out. Wayne him¬ 
self didn’t actually slumber, but he leaned back 
in a half-doze that was almost as restful as sleep, 
and Sam, restraining his desire to investigate 
these new surroundings, presently slept, too. 

It was hunger that finally aroused them to 
action. The clock on the wall told them that it 
was almost half-past seven, and they left the 
waiting-room and passed out again into the chill 
of the March morning. But the sun was shining 
strongly now and there was a spring softness in 
the air that made June whistle gaily as they made 
their way back up the railroad in search of 
“Mister Denny’s” lunch-wagon. There they had 
some steaming hot coffee, and some crisp rolls and 
butter and, since there was still a nickel in the 
exchequer, three bananas which they consumed 
outside. To be sure, that left them penniless, but 
somehow that didn’t seem to matter so much this 
morning. There was something in the spring-like 
air that gave them courage and confidence. Be¬ 
sides, whatever happened, they had a home, such 
as it was, in the old shed. Presently they again 
set forth on their search for employment, agree¬ 
ing to meet at five o’clock. 

But again it was June who prospered and 


46 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


Wayne who returned empty-handed. June 
proudly displayed forty cents in dimes and nickels 
which he had earned in as many capacities as 
there were coins in his hand. Not only had he 
earned that forty cents, but he had dined sump¬ 
tuously on a pork chop, having traded a quarter 
of an hour of his time and labour for that delicacy 
at a little restaurant. For his part, Wayne had 
gone dinnerless and was thoroughly discouraged. 
Even the tattered but still useful horse blanket 
which June had picked up outside a flour mill 
across the town could not cheer Wayne’s spirits. 

“Reckon,” said June, spreading the blanket out 
proudly, “someone done lose that as didn’t mean 
to, Mas’ Wayne, ’cause it’s a powerful nice 
blanket, ain’ it?” Wayne listlessly agreed and 
June dropped it through the window which was 
their means of ingress and egress. “It’s goin’ 
to keep us fine an’ warm tonight, that little ol’ 
blanket is. Tomorrow I’m goin’ to find me a bed 
to go with it! You hungry enough to eat, Mas’ 
Wayne?” 

Wayne shook his head. “I don’t want any 
supper,” he replied. 

“Don’ want no supper! How come? What-all 
you have for your dinner, please?” 

“I had enough,” answered Wayne. “You go 
ahead and have your supper, June.” 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


47 


June snorted. “Mighty likely, ain’ it?” he de¬ 
manded scathingly. “Beckon you can see this 
nigger eatin’ all by his lonely. No, sir, Mas’ 
Wayne, you-all’s goin’ to eat, too. If you don’ 
there ain’ goin’ to be no supper for nobody.” 

“I tell you I’m not hungry,” replied Wayne 
irritably. “Besides, if you must know, I haven’t 
any money.” 

“Say you ain’? You’ve got forty cents. How 
come that ain’ enough money to buy us some 
supper?” 

“That’s your money, not mine,” said Wayne 
bitterly. “You earned it. I didn’t. I’m not 
going to live off you. You go get your supper 
and let me alone.” 

“I earned it for all of us,” said June earnestly. 
“Beckon you paid a heap of money to buy victuals 
for me, Mas’ Wayne, all the way up from Sleep- 
ersville, didn’ you, sir?” 

“That’s different,” muttered the other. 

“How come it’s different? Please, sir, don’ 
you be uppity an’ proud. Ever since we was little 
fellers together, Mas’ Wayne, you done give me 
money; two bits here, an’ two bits there, an’ a 
dime yonder. How come I can’ pay it back to 
you?” 

“A gentleman doesn’t—doesn’t do that,” re¬ 
turned Wayne stubbornly. 


48 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


“You mean ’cause you’re white an’ I’m black V 9 

“Never mind what I mean. Anyway, I’m not 
hungry, so shut up.” 

June obeyed, scuffling his shoes in the cinders 
underfoot and staring sadly at the sunset glow 
beyond the factory roofs to the west. Sam had 
found a very old and very dry bone somewhere 
and was pretending that it was quite new and 
delicious. He even growled once or twice, al¬ 
though there was no other dog in sight, perhaps 
to convince himself that he really had discovered 
a prize. Minutes passed and the western sky 
faded from crimson to yellow, and from yellow to 
gray. Finally Wayne stole a look at June. 

“You’d better be going,” he growled. 

“I ain’ aimin’ to go, Mas’ Wayne,” replied 
June earnestly. “Reckon I ain’ no hungrier than 
you is.” 

“I don’t care whether you are or not,” declared 
the other angrily. “I say you’re to go and get 
some supper. Now you go.” 

June shook his head. “Not without you come 
along,” he answered. 

“You do as I tell you, June!” 

“I’m wishin’ to, Mas’ Wayne, but I jus’ can’, 
sir.” 

“Well, you just will! If you don’t start right 
along I’ll whale you, Junius!” 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


49 


“Yes, sir, Mas’ Wayne, you can do that, but 
you-all can’ make me eat no supper. That’s 
somethin’ you can’ do.” 

“If you can’t do as I tell you you’ll have to get 
out. You think just because you’re up North 
here you can do as you please. Well, I’ll show 
you. Are you going to obey me!” 

“Please, sir, Mas’ Wayne, I’m goin’ to do 
everythin’ just like you tell me, savin’ that! I 
jus’ can’ go an’ eat anythin’ ’less you come 
along. I’m powerful sorry, hones’ to goodness, 
Mas’ Wayne, but you can see how ’tis.” 

Wayne muttered something that sounded far 
from complimentary, and relapsed into dignified 
silence. The white stars came out one by one and 
the chill of evening made itself felt. Sam tired of 
pretending and begged to be taken up by Wayne, 
but Wayne brushed his paws aside. June sat 
motionless on his end of the old wheelbarrow and 
made no sound. Now, when you haven’t had any¬ 
thing to eat since early morning and have tramped 
miles over city pavements pride is all very well 
but it doesn’t butter any parsnips. Besides, 
Wayne realised just as clearly as you or I, or 
almost as clearly, that he was making a mountain 
of a molehill and that if he wasn’t so tired and 
discouraged he wouldn’t have hesitated to share 
June’s earnings. But pride, even false pride, is 


50 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


always stubborn, and it was well toward dark 
before Wayne shrugged his shoulders impatiently 
and jumped up from his seat. 

“Oh, come on then, you stubborn mule,” he 
muttered. “If you won’t eat without me I reckon 
I’ll have to go along.” 

He stalked off into the twilight and June and 
Sam followed, the former with a little shuffling 
caper unseen of Wayne and the latter with an 
ecstatic bark. 

In the morning, when they had again break¬ 
fasted none too grandly, at the lunch-wagon, they 
were once more reduced to penury. Not only that, 
but both boys were discovering that forty or fifty 
cents a day, while sufficient to keep them from 
starvation, was not enough to satisfy two healthy 
appetites. Neither made mention of his dis¬ 
covery, but Wayne, again encouraged by food and 
rest, told himself resolutely that today must end 
the matter, that he would find something to do 
before he returned to the little shed, and June as 
resolutely determined to try harder and earn 
more money. What Sam’s thoughts were I don’t 
know. Sam didn’t seem to care much what hap¬ 
pened so long as he could be with Wayne. 

But all the good resolutions in the world and 
all the grim determination sometimes fail, and 
again Fortune turned a deaf ear to Wayne’s peti- 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


51 


tions. The nearest he came to landing a place 
was when a foreman at a rambling old factory at 
the far end of the town offered him a job packing 
spools if he could produce a union card. Wayne 
not only couldn’t produce such a thing but didn’t 
know what it was until the foreman impatiently 
explained, assuring him that there was no use in 
his seeking work in the factories unless he first 
became a member of a union. This was something 
of an exaggeration, as Wayne ultimately learned, 
but for the present it was sufficient to just about 
double his load of discouragement. He confined 
his efforts to shops and places of retail business 
after that but had no luck, and returned to the 
shed when the street lights began to appear, 
hungry and tired and ready to give up, to find 
that Fate was not yet through with him for that 
day. 

For once June had fared almost as sadly as 
Wayne and only a solitary ten-cent piece was the 
result of his efforts. June was apologetic and 
would have recited his experiences at length, but 
Wayne didn’t have the heart to listen. 4 ‘ It doesn’t 
matter, June, ’ ’ he said listlessly. 4 ‘ It wasn’t your 
fault. At that, you made ten cents more than I 
did. I reckon there’s only one thing to do now.” 

“What’s that, Mas’ Wayne?” 

“Buy a stamp with two cents of that ten and 


52 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


write back to Mr. Higgins for money to get home 
with. I reckon we’re just about at the end of the 
halter, June.” 

“Don’ you believe that, Mas’ Wayne,” replied 
June stoutly. “An’ don’ you go writin’ no letter 
to that old skinflint stepdaddy of yours. Jus’ 
you give me another chance an’ see what I goin’ 
to bring home tomorrow! We’ll go get us a cup 
of coffee an’ then we’ll feel a heap perkier, yes, 
sir! An’ then we’ll jus’ go to sleep an’ get up in 
the mornin’ feelin’ fine an’ start right out an’ lan’ 
somethin’. Don’ you go gettin’ discouraged, Mas’ 
Wayne. We’s goin’ to be livin’ on the fat of the 
lan’ in two-three days!” 

“There’s another town, bigger than this, June, 
about twenty miles from here. Maybe we’d better 
mosey along over there and see if things are any 
better. Seems to me I’ve been in most every 
place in this town asking for work now, and I’m 
beginning to forget which ones I’ve been to and 
which ones I haven’t.” 

“Well, I don’ know,” answered June. “Some¬ 
times it seems like it’s the wisest thing to stay 
right to home an’ not go projeckin’ ’roun’. We’s 
got a comfor’ble place to sleep here, Mas’ Wayne, 
an’ there ain’ no tellin’ what would happen to us 
if we went totin’ off to this other place, is there! 
’Spose you an’ me goes an’ has that coffee first. 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 53 

Seems like I can always think a heap better after 
meals/’ 

“A cup of coffee isn’t much of a meal,” ob¬ 
jected Wayne, “but I reckon it’s going to taste 
mighty good to me. We’ll go to the lunch-wagon 
for it. You get better coffee there than the other 
places we’ve been to.” 

The lunch-wagon was crowded and they had to 
wait for several minutes before they could get 
waited on by Mr. Connor. He always seemed glad 
to see them and still took a great interest in 
Sam, but usually there were too many others 
there to allow of much conversation. Tonight he 
only nodded and smiled as he passed the cups to 
them, and they retired to the side of the wagon 
and drank the beverage gratefully, wishing there 
was more of it and trying hard to keep their gaze 
from the viands displayed beyond the long 
counter. Fortunately for Sam, he had already 
become acquainted with a number of the regular 
patrons of the Golden Star Lunch and was almost 
always certain of food. The men who took their 
meals there, workers in the nearby factories and 
railroad hands, were for the most part rough but 
kindly and many crusts of bread and scraps of 
meat went to Sam, who, duly grateful and willing 
to show his few tricks in return for the favours 
bestowed on him, allowed no familiarities. When 


54 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


anyone other than Wayne or June tried to pat 
him he backed away, politely but firmly. 

The coffee did the boys good, although it felt 
awfully lonesome where they put it, and they re¬ 
turned to the shed in a more cheerful frame of 
mind. It was still too early to go to bed, but the 
station was several blocks away and there was 
no nearer place to resort to, and so presently they 
stretched themselves out on the floor of the shed, 
drew the horse blanket over them, and were soon 
asleep. How much later it was when Wayne 
awoke with a blinding glare of light in his eyes 
there was no way of telling. 

For a moment he blinked dazedly, his brain still 
fogged with sleep. Then he sat up, and Sam, 
disturbed, sniffed and broke into shrill barking. 
June, a sounder sleeper, still snored when a gruff 
voice came from the direction of the light which 
Wayne now realised was thrown by a lantern. 

44 What are you doing in here! Come on now! 
Get out!” said the voice. 

Wayne scrambled to his feet, commanding Sam 
to be still, and June groaned and snorted himself 
awake. The light was thrown aside and, framed 
in the window, Wayne could see the form of a 
policeman. 

44 We aren’t doing any harm, sir,” said the boy. 
44 Just sleeping here.” 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 55 

“Sleeping here, eh? Haven’t yon got a home? 
How many are there of yon?” 

“Two, sir. We are on our way to New York 
and we didn’t have any other place to sleep, so 
we came in here.” 

“Hoboes, eh? Well, you’d better beat it before 
the lieutenant lamps you. He’s down on you 
fellows this spring.” 

“We aren’t hoboes, sir. We’re looking for 
work. ’ ’ 

“Yes, I know,” was the ironical response. 
“Well, come on out of it.” 

“But we haven’t any other place, sir. We 
aren’t doing any harm and-” 

“It doesn’t matter about that. What’s your 
name and where’d you come from?” Wayne told 
him and the officer grunted. Then: 4 4 Get the other 
fellow up,” he ordered, and, when June had 
crawled sleepily to his feet, “Hello, a nig, eh? 
Travelling together, are you?” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Wayne. “We’re going 
to New York, but our money gave out and we’ve 
been trying to earn enough to go on with.” 

“That straight goods?” 

“Yes, sir, it’s the truth, really.” 

“Well, all right. Stay where you are tonight, 
kids, but you’ll have to get out tomorrow. This is 
private property and I can’t have you trespass- 


56 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


ing. You’d be welcome to stay as long as you 
liked if I had the say, but I haven’t. So don’t let 
me find you here tomorrow night or I’ll have to 
run you in. Good night, boys.” 

The lantern’s glare vanished and the police¬ 
man’s steps went crunching off on the cinders. 


CHAPTER V 


WAYNE PARTS WITH SAM 

There was no breakfast the next morning other 
than copious draughts of water from the tank in 
the station waiting-room. At least, there was 
none for the boys; Sam found an ancient crust 
of bread along the track and made the most of it. 
At a little after eight they parted, agreeing to 
.meet uptown at noon so that should one or the 
other have earned any money they might eat. 
Wayne’s ill luck stayed with him and at a little 
after twelve he sought the corner near the post 
office and found June already on hand. June had 
the enormous sum of twenty cents, earned by 
carrying a drummer’s sample cases from store 
to store for a period of well over an hour, and it 
took the boys something less than two minutes to 
find a lunch-room and climb to a couple of stools. 
Wayne was for conserving half their fortune, but 
when June’s eyes rolled covetously at the good 
things displayed, and June earnestly assured him 
of his ability to earn more money that afternoon, 
Wayne recklessly consented to the spending of 

57 


58 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


the whole amount. The fact that he was every 
bit as hungry as June had a good deal to do with 
his change of mind. 

That lunch tasted awfully good. Also, as June 
remarked wistfully, it tasted “moreish.” But 
their money was exhausted and they parted again 
at the lunch-room door and went their separate 
ways. How many flights of stairs he climbed that 
afternoon, how many doors he opened, how many 
blocks of hard pavement he trod, Wayne didn’t 
know, but even Sam showed evidences of exhaus¬ 
tion when, at twilight, downhearted and despair¬ 
ing, boy and dog returned to the shed by the rail¬ 
road track. 

“I reckon,” Wayne confided, “you and I are 
hoodooed, Sam. Reckon there isn’t anything for 
us to do but just slink back home the best way we 
can, old chap.” And Sam, trotting along beside 
him, raised understanding eyes and wagged the 
stump of his tail sympathetically. 

June was downcast and woe-begone and self- 
accusing. Not a cent had he accumulated since 
noon. Luck had fairly deserted him. Every offer 
of services had been refused and a big, red-faced 
man had chased him out of a butcher shop with 
upraised cleaver when June had tried to negotiate 
for “a little ol’ piece o’ meat.” Hunger again 
faced them, and, to make matters worse, they were 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


59 


homeless. Wayne slumped down on the wheel¬ 
barrow and studied the situation from all angles, 
while June kept a sharp and nervous watch for 
that troublesome policeman. At length Wayne 
arose with a look of settled determination on his 
face. 

4 ‘Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to eat, June. 
If we don’t we can’t look for work. Mr. Connor 
wants Sam and-” 

June let out a wail. “You ain’ goin’ to sell 
Sam, Mas’ Wayne! Please don’ you do that! 
Why, I ain’ hungry scarcely at all yet! Why, I 
don’ reckon you got any right -” 

“I’m not going to sell him,” interrupted Wayne 
impatiently, even indignantly. “I’m going to ask 
Mr. Connor to take him and let us have our 
meals until we can pay him and get Sam back. 
That’s fair, isn’t it? Sam won’t mind—much. 
He’ll be warm and have plenty to eat and—and 
all.” 

“He ain’ goin’ to be happy,” replied June, 
shaking his head sorrowfully, “but I reckon he 
won’ mind a awful lot if you kind of explains to 
him jus’ how it is, Mas’ Wayne. But you reckon 
Mister Denny goin’ to do it?” 

“I mean to ask him, anyway,” answered Wayne 
stoutly. “He can’t do any more than refuse. So 
come along before the place fills up.” 


60 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


Fortunately they found the lunch-wagon empty 
save for the presence of Mr. Connor himself and 
one tattered individual consuming coffee and 
doughnuts at a far end of the counter. Denny was 
reading the evening paper under a light beside the 
glistening, sizzing coffee urn. “Hello, boys,” he 
greeted cordially. “And how’s the world using 
you these days? You wasn’t in this morning, 
was you?” 

“No, sir,” answered Wayne. “I—could I speak 
to you a minute, Mr. Connor?” 

“Sure.” Denny laid the paper down and fol¬ 
lowed Wayne out of earshot of the lone patron. 
“What is it, my boy?” 

In a low voice Wayne confided their predica¬ 
ment and made his proposal. Denny was sym¬ 
pathetic, and interjected, “I want to know!”, 
“Think of that now!”, and similar remarks dur¬ 
ing the narrative, and when Wayne had finished 
turned instantly and slid two cups and saucers 
toward the coffee urn. 

“Here,” he exclaimed, “you fellers put this 
down before you do any more jabbering. There’s 
the sugar forninst you, Junius. What’ll you have 
to eat, now? Beef stew, corned beef hash, ham, 

eggs-” He ran an eye down the placard on 

the wall. “What’ll it be, boys?” 

“Then you don’t mind doing it?” asked Wayne. 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


61 


“I’ll be awfully much obliged to you, Mr. Connor. 
I don’t know just when I can pay you back, but 

it won’t be very long, I reckon, and-” 

“Ah, go on!” replied Denny gruffly. “Eat 
what you want. I don’t want your dog, kid!” 

But Wayne was firm, even with the fragrant 
odour of that coffee in his nostrils, while June, 
already on a stool, was rolling longing eyes at the 
pies and cakes standing in rows on the shelves. 
“If you won’t take Sam for—for security,” said 
Wayne earnestly, “I won’t do it, sir. He won’t 
be any trouble and he doesn’t eat very much. I 
reckon you’d have to keep him tied up for a couple 
of days, because he might try to get away and 
follow me, but he’d soon get used to you, sir.” 

Denny frowned thoughtfully from Wayne to 
Sam. “That’s all right,” he said at last, “only 
suppose I get fond of him, eh? I got an awful 
weak heart for dogs, kid. Look here, I tell you 
what. Sam can be security, do you see, and you 
can keep him just the same. Then if you don’t 
pay up, do you see, I’ll take him. Now what’s it 
going to be? That corned beef hash is pretty good 

tonight, and if you put a couple of eggs on it-” 

“That’s silly,” interrupted Wayne. “Suppose 
we left town?” 

“Oh, I’d have to risk that. You wouldn’t, 
though. Sure, I know you’re a straight lad.” 


62 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

Wayne shook his head, sighed, and pushed the 
untasted coffee away. “Come on, June,” he said 
resolutely. “We’ve got to be travelling.” 

“Huh?” queried June dismayedly. “Ain’ we 
go in’ to eat nothin’?” 

“Not here. Mr. Connor doesn’t like our plan, 
June.” 

“Don’ like it? How come he don’ like it? 
Look here, Mister Denny, that Sam dog’s the 
smartest, knowin’est dog as is, yes, sir! You can’ 
make no mistake if you takes him, sir. He’s 
got the cutest tricks-” 

“I guess I’ve got to take him,” said Denny 
ruefully. “But I don’t see why you ain’t satisfied 
if I am. Oh, all right. Get on a stool there and 
feed your face, kid. You win. What about that 
hash now?” 

Half an hour later, almost painfully replete 
with food and coffee, the boys left the Golden Star 
Lunch. Sam, tied with a cord behind the counter, 
sent wails of anguish after them, and Wayne hur¬ 
ried his steps and finally broke into a run. Only 
when a corner of a building along the track had 
shut off the lugubrious sounds did Wayne slow 
down again. After that they traversed a block in 
silence. Then it was June who spoke. 

“Dogs is awful human folks, ain’ they?” he 
asked subduedly. 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


63 


Wayne nodded but didn’t answer. Presently, 
though, he broke out defiantly with: ‘ 4 We’ve got 
to redeem him, June! He isn’t going to be happy 
there, Sam isn’t. He—he’s going to be mighty 
lonesome.” Then: u So am I,” he added gruffly. 

“Yes, sir, I reckon he’s goin’ to be powerful 
mis’able at firs’,” agreed June. “We jus’ got to 
get to work an’ get him back, ain’t we, Mas’ 
Wayne?” 

“We surely have,” agreed Wayne decidedly. 
“And I’m going to find a job tomorrow or—or 
bust!” 

They stayed in the waiting-room, the object of 
deep suspicion on the part of the station police¬ 
man, who, fortunately, was not the officer who had 
ordered them away from the little shed, until the 
eleven-twelve express had pulled out. Then, when 
the baggage-man went through and put out most 
of the lights and the ticket seller closed and locked 
the door of his office and started for home, they 
exchanged the warmth of the waiting-room for 
the chill of outdoors and sleepily sought a place 
to spend the rest of the night. It wasn’t difficult. 
An empty box car on a sidetrack invited them 
with a half-opened door and they clambered in, 
closed the door behind them, and settled in a 
corner, drawing the horse blanket which June 
had carried around with him all evening over their 


64 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


tired bodies. They lay awake for a good while, 
talking, planning, wondering about Sam. At in¬ 
tervals an engine would roll past with clanking 
wheels, sometimes throwing red gleams from the 
open door of its fire box through the cracks of 
the box car. Later an express thundered by, 
shaking the earth. But that was after they had 
fallen asleep, and the roar only half awakened 
Wayne and disturbed June not a particle. 

They awoke late the next morning, stiff-limbed 
but rested, and dropped from the car and went 
back to the station for a wash-up. Then came 
hot coffee and fried eggs and rolls at the lunch- 
wagon, but no reunion with Sam, for Denny ex¬ 
plained that he had taken Sam home with him and 
that he was at that moment tied to a leg of the 
kitchen table. 

“He howled a good deal during the night,’’ said 
Denny philosophically, “but I guess he didn’t 
keep anyone awake. He seemed a bit easier in 
his mind this morning, though, and the missis gave 
him a good breakfast and when I left he was lick¬ 
ing the baby’s face. I guess he’s going to be all 
right in a day or two, but if the kid gets fond of 

him and I get fond of him-” Denny shook 

his head. “You haven’t changed your mind about 
selling him, have you!” 

Wayne said no, and the proprietor of the lunch- 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


65 


wagon sighed. 4 ‘ Well, I was only thinking maybe 
that would make it a lot easier for all hands. But 
I won’t be urging you, kid. He’s a nice little dog 
and he sure is fond of you. Any time you want to 
see him you go around to the house and tell the 
missis who you are, see? No. 28 Grove Street’s 
the place. Ring the second bell. Well, so long, 
fellers. Good luck!” 

Perhaps it was Denny’s wish that influenced 
Fortune that day, for when the two met at noon 
June proudly displayed two quarters and Wayne 
was happy over the possibility of securing work 
in a livery stable. “He said I was to come back 
in the morning,” explained Wayne as they sought 
the little lunch-room that they had patronised the 
previous day. “I reckon he means to take me, 
June. Wouldn’t that be great?” 

“It surely would, Mas’ Wayne. What-all he 
want you to do?” 

“Drive a carriage, one of the closed carriages 
that take passengers from the station. That’s 
something I can do, June, drive!” 

“Yes, sir, you surely can drive. But that ain’ 
scarcely fit work for a gen’leman like you is, Mas’ 
Wayne.” 

“I reckon what you do doesn’t matter.much, 
June,” replied Wayne. “I reckon you can be a 
gentleman and drive a carriage, too. Anyway, 


66 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


I’d rather be earning some money. Just being a 
gentleman doesn’t get you anything as far as 
I can see.” 

June shook his head at that but didn’t dispute 
it. He had something on his mind, and as soon as 
they were seated at the lunch-counter he broached 
it. “We got to fin’ a place to live, ain’ we, Mas’ 
Wayne?” he began. Wayne agreed, and June 
went on. “Yes, sir. Then let me tell you.’’ What 
he told amounted to this. His search for the illu¬ 
sive two-bit piece had taken him farther afield 
than usual and he had plodded to the outskirts 
of the town where there was a stamping works 
and a dyehouse and a few other small factories. 
His journey had brought him no recompense in 
money but he had discovered their future domi¬ 
cile. It was, he explained, an old street car which 
had at some time been pulled out into a meadow 
beyond the factories. “I reckon it was a horse 
car, like they used to have in Sleepersville, Mas’ 
Wayne, before the trolleys done come. Mos’ of 
the windows is knocked out, but we could easy 
board ’em up. An’ one of the doors don’ shut 
tight. But it’s got a long seat on both its sides 
an’ we could sleep fine on them seats. An’ there’s 
a little old stove at one end that someone done left 
there, an’ a stovepipe astickin’ out through the 
roof. I ask a man at the tin factory an’ he say 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


67 


no one ain’ live in it for a long time. An’ there’s 
a branch close by it, too; mighty nice tastin’ 
water, Mas’ Wayne; an’ some trees an’ no one to 
ask you no questions, an’ everythin’!” 

“That sounds great, June,” said Wayne 
eagerly. “How far is it?” 

“Must be a good two miles, I reckon. You go 
down this away and you bear over yonder-like an’ 
you follow the railroad right straight till you come 
to it.” 

“It must be near where we got put off the train 
the other night,” said Wayne. 

“No, sir, ’tain’, it’s in the other direction; other 
side of town.” 

“Oh, that’s right. Well, now look here, June. 
We’ve got thirty cents left and that’s enough to 
keep us going until tomorrow, and I’m pretty sure 
to get that job in the morning. Why don’t we go 
out there now and have a look at the place?” 

“Yes, sir, that’s what I was thinkin’. We could 
find some boards, maybe, an’ fix up them windows, 
an’ get some wood for a fire-” 

“We’d better take that blanket out, though, in 
case we decided to stay there, June. There 
wouldn’t be any use coming back to town, would 
there?” 

June looked dubious. “How about some sup¬ 
per?” he asked. 



68 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

“I forgot that. But, look here, if there’s a 
stove there-” 

“Yes, sir! Get us some coffee an’ bread-” 

“And cook our own supper!” concluded Wayne 
triumphantly. 

“Ain’ that fine? You take this yere money, 
Mas’ Wayne, an’ buy them things, an’ I’ll run 
back an’ fetch that blanket.” June grinned from 
ear to ear, displaying a wealth of glistening white 
teeth. 

“You’re sure no one owns that car, though, 
June? We don’t want to get settled down there 
and then be put out the way they put us out of 
the little shed.” 

“Huh, ain’ no police -ever gets aroun’ there, I 
reckon,” answered June. “Man said it didn’ 
belong to no one, too.” 

“All right. You get the blanket and I’ll buy 
what I can and meet you at the post office in 
fifteen minutes or so.” 

June disappeared,' and Wayne paid the two 
cheques and set out to find a grocery store. When 
he had completed his purchasing just one lone¬ 
some nickel remained in his pocket, but he had 
acquired a modest amount of cheap coffee, five 
cents’ worth of butter, a loaf of bread, a can of 
condensed milk and some sugar. Five minutes 
later they were footing it down the main street 



SECOND BASE SLOAN 


69 


of Medfield, Wayne bearing the provisions and 
June the horse blanket which was a load in itself. 
It seemed that June had not underestimated the 
distance a particle, nor the difficulties of travel, 
for after they had traversed the poorer part of 
town their road stopped abruptly and they were 
forced to take to the railroad track and, since 
trains were coming and going frequently, make 
their way along by the little path on the side of 
the embankment. Coal yards, lumber yards, a 
foundry, vacant lots heaped with cinders and 
rubbish, and, at last, the open country, dotted here 
and there with small factories which, possibly 
because of lower land values, had been set up on 
the outskirts of town. June explained that he had 
found his way there in the morning by the road, 
but that the road was “way over yonder an’ a 
heap longer. ’’ Presently he pointed out the 
stamping works, or tin factory, as he called it, and 
then directed Wayne’s gaze further and to the 
right. 

“See that bunch of trees, Mas’ Wayne? See 
somethin’ jus’ other side of ’em? That’s it, sir!” 

“Oh! But it’s a long ways from town, June.” 

“It’s a right smart walk, yes, sir, but the rent’s 
mighty cheap!” And June chuckled as he led the 
way down the embankment, through a fence and 
into a boggy meadow. Further away a sort of 


70 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


road wound in the direction of the stamping 
w r orks, and toward this June proceeded. The road 
scarcely deserved the name, but it was drier than 
the meadow. It appeared to have been con¬ 
structed of a mixture of broken bricks, ashes, and 
tin cuttings and the latter glowed in the after¬ 
noon sunlight like bits of gold. They left the road 
at the stamping works, through whose open win¬ 
dows came the hum and clash of machinery, 
skirted a huge pile of waste tin, and went on 
across the field, choosing their way cautiously 
since every low spot held water. By now the 
abandoned horse car stood before them in all its 
glory of weather-faded yellow paint, broken win¬ 
dows, rusted roof, and sagging platforms. At one 
end some two feet of stovepipe protruded at a 
rakish angle from the roof. Wayne looked, saw, 
and was dubious. But when June asked proudly, 
4 ‘What you think of her, Mas’ Wayne!” he only 
said, “Fine, June!” 


CHAPTER VI 


THE NEW HOME 

And when, having slid back the crazy door at the 
nearer end of the car, they entered it and seated 
themselves on the benches, it didn’t look nearly so 
unpromising. There was a good, stout floor under¬ 
foot and a reasonably tight roof overhead. 
Wayne began to see possibilities. 

The car was only about twelve feet long and of 
the usual width. At some time a matched-board 
partition had divided it into two compartments, 
but this had nearly all disappeared. Every pane 
of glass, and there had been eighteen in all, count¬ 
ing those in the doors, were either smashed or 
totally missing. Over one window at each end 
and over three of the six windows at each side 
boards had been nailed. The remains of a flimsy 
curtain hung over the glass of the forward door. 
From the roof two lamp fixtures still depended, 
but the lamps were gone. The floor was littered 
with trash, including newspaper and tin cans and 
cracker boxes and scraps of dried bread, indicat¬ 
ing that the place had been used for picnic pur- 
71 


72 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

poses. In a corner at the farther end a small 
“air-tight” stove was set on a board placed on 
the seat. It was badly rusted, the upper door 
hung by one hinge, the mica was broken out, and 
the interior was filled with ashes and charred 
embers. Between stove and ceiling there was no 
pipe. Wayne tried the door at that end, 
but it was jammed so tightly that he couldn’t 
budge it. 

An inspection of the outside followed. The 
trucks had been discarded and the body of the 
car rested on four six-inch sills, two running 
lengthwise and two across. An attempt had ap¬ 
parently been made to set fire to the car, for at 
one side the woodwork was scorched and the end 
of a sill burned away for nearly a foot. The in¬ 
scription, “Medfield Street Railway Co.,” in faded 
brown letters against the faded yellow body, was 
still legible, as was the figure 6, preceding and 
following it. 

‘‘I’d like to know what number 1 looks like, ,, 
said Wayne, “if this is number 6!” 

Everything of value in the way of metal had 
been removed, even to the brass hand rails and 
sill plates. The only glass that had escaped 
destruction consisted of a number of long and 
narrow panes in the roof, of which less than half 
remained intact. As Wayne discovered later, 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 73 

these were set in hinged frames that could be 
opened for ventilating purposes. On the front 
platform—they designated it the front merely be¬ 
cause it seemed natural to call one front and one 
back, and that was the one outside the jammed 
door—a dozen sticks of wood suggested the loca¬ 
tion of the fuel pile at some time. Ashes had been 
disposed of by merely emptying them over the 
front dash. June discovered the missing stove¬ 
pipe lying a few yards away, but it was so rusted 
that it came to pieces when he tried to lift it from 
the ground. Other untidy evidences of former oc¬ 
cupation and more recent vandalism lay around: 
an iron skillet with the handle broken off, a bent 
and twisted toaster, many empty cans, a worn and 
sodden rope doormat, a length of rotted clothes 
line of which one end was tied to a ten-foot pole 
set some six yards away. 

“I wonder/’ mused Wayne, “who lived here. 
And why they went away. And I wonder most 
of all, June, how they got this thing out here in 
the middle of this marsh. ,, 

But June was ready with a quite feasible ex¬ 
planation, which was that the car nad been loaded 
onto a truck and hauled there. “Reckon in the 
summer this yere field is all dried up, Mas’ 
Wayne.” 

As it was getting on toward the middle of the 


74 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


afternoon by now it behooved them to set about 
preparing the domicile for occupation. They dis¬ 
carded their coats and set to work and in an hour 
had accomplished marvels. The floor was cleared 
of rubbish, Wayne requiring June to carry it well 
away from the vicinity of the car before dispos¬ 
ing of it, dust was obliterated with the fragment 
of curtain, some loose boards were nailed back 
into place over the windows—the broken skillet 
served as a hammer—the stove door was rehung 
with a bent nail, ashes were removed, and the re¬ 
fractory rear door was coaxed into obedience by 
digging away the dirt beneath it with a pocket 
knife. 

After that the principal demands were stove¬ 
pipe and covering for the broken windows. They 
thought later of many other things that were 
sorely needed, but just now those wants took prec¬ 
edence. It was out of the question to find stove¬ 
pipe nearer than town, unless, as June suggested, 
some rubbish dump supplied it, and so they 
tackled the matter of covering the windows. For 
that they needed boards, or some other material, 
and nails. And a hammer would have helped a 
lot, although the skillet did fairly well in the 
emergency. There was enough of the partition 
left to supply boards for one window, but they 
had no nails, and a search through the ash pile 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


75 


failed to provide more than four bent and rusted 
ones. So it was decided that June should walk 
back to the stamping works and see if he could 
find, beg, or borrow some. Also, he was to be on 
the lookout for anything that might be used in 
making the new home weather tight. In the mean¬ 
while Wayne was to “projeck ’rounV’ as June 
phrased it, and collect anything useful that could 
be found. 

June went oft, whistling blithely, and Wayne 
began his search. The new abode stood about 
two hundred yards from the railroad embank¬ 
ment, at this point a good eight feet above the 
meadow, and possibly half again as far from the 
nearest building which was the stamping works. 
Beyond the latter were a number of other fac¬ 
tories, puffing steam or smoke into the afternoon 
sunlight, and beyond these began the town. 
Standing on the front porch, which was the term 
ultimately applied to the rear platform, the view 
to the left ended at the railroad embankment, but 
to the right Wayne could see for nearly a mile. 
A few scattered houses indicated the dirt road in 
that direction and beyond the houses was some 
tilled land, and, finally, a fringe of trees. In front 
lay the edge of the town, with the town itself, 
overhung by a haze of smoke, a good mile beyond. 
On the fourth side, visible when Wayne stepped 


76 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


off the “porch” to the soggy ground, the meadow 
continued for another hundred yards to a rail 
fence. Beyond the fence was a ploughed field 
which sloped off and up to meet the blue March 
sky. Between car and railroad a group of trees 
attracted Wayne’s attention, and he set out for it 
across the squishy meadow. Half-way to it he 
caught sight of water and recalled June’s mention 
of a “branch.” It proved to be a tiny brook that, 
emerging from a culvert under the tracks, wan¬ 
dered as far as the tiny grove and then curved 
off to the rail fence and followed it across the 
fields in the direction of the road. The water 
was clear and cold and tasted very good to 
the boy. Just now the brook was overflowing 
its bed in places, but the little knoll on which 
the cluster of trees grew was high and dry 
underfoot. 

The brook offered treasure-trove in the shape 
of a number of short planks and pieces of boxes 
rudely nailed together, doubtless representing the 
efforts of some boy to construct a raft. Wayne 
doubted its seaworthiness after he had experi¬ 
mentally pushed it back into the water and tried 
his weight on it. He floated it along to the nearest 
point to the car, getting his feet thoroughly wet 
in the process, and then, not without much pant¬ 
ing and frequent rests, dragged it the balance of 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 77 

the way. After that he ranged the field in all 
directions, returning several times with his loads 
of wood for fuel or window repairs. He had quite 
a respectable pile on the front platform by the 
time June returned. 

The darkey brought a whole pocketful of nails 
and a number of sheets of tin of various sizes 
which he had salvaged from the waste heap. Few 
were larger than fifteen or sixteen inches in any 
direction, but together they would turn the wind 
and rain at one window at least. The nails had 
been given him by a man in the office. He had, 
he said, requested a hammer, too, but the man’s 
generosity had balked there. They set to work 
with the materials at hand and inside of the next 
hour accounted for four windows and part of 
a fifth, leaving six still open to the winds of 
Heaven. They made a systematic search for 
more boards, but failed to find any. Foiled, they 
entered their new home and sat down for a brief 
rest. 

The sight of the groceries presented a new 
quandary to Wayne. ‘‘Look here, June,” he 
exclaimed. 4 ‘We’ve got coffee and milk and 
sugar, and we know where there’s water, but we 
haven’t anything to boil it in!” 

6 1 My goodness! ’ ’ said June. ‘‘ Ain ’ that a fac’? 
What we-all goin’ to do, Mas’ Wayne?” 


78 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


Wayne shook his head helplessly. “I don’t 
know,” he answered. “I reckon that skillet 
wouldn’t do, would it?” 

It wouldn’t, as an examination proved, for when 
the handle had broken off it had taken a generous 
piece of the skillet with it. June studied the situa¬ 
tion hard, cupping his chin in his hands and 
gazing at the scuffed toes of his shoes. “I 
reckon,” he said finally, “we jus’ got to eat that 
coffee. ’Sides,” he continued, “how we goin’ 
to boil it, anyway, without no fire?” 

“We could build a fire outside,” answered 
Wayne. “For that matter, we could build one in 
the stove. I reckon the smoke wouldn’t bother us 
much seeing half our windows are open! But 
we’ve got to have a coffee-pot or a pan or some¬ 
thing. We surely were chumps, June,” he ended 
sadly. 

“How come we didn’ think of that, Mas’ 
Wayne?” 

“There’s something else we didn’t think of,” 
replied the other. “We didn’t think of anything 
to drink it out of, either! ’ ’ 

“I ain’ botherin’ so much about that,” said 
June. “Jus’ you cook me that coffee an’ see! 

But we surely has got to have somethin’ to-” 

He stopped abruptly. “How much money we got, 
Mas’ Wayne?” he asked eagerly. 



SECOND BASE SLOAN 79 

“Five cents. Yon can’t get a coffee-pot for 
five cents, I reckon.” 

“Give me he,” said June, jumping up. “I’ll go 
on back yonder an’ ask that man in the tin factory 
to sell me a five-cent kettle or somethin’, Mas’ 
Wayne. He’s a nice man an’ I reckon when I 
tell him we can’ get no supper without he sells 
it to us he goin’ do it. Jus’ you wait, Mas’ 
Wayne.” 

“All right,” laughed Wayne. “And ask him to 
throw in two tin cups and a candle and a blanket 
or two and-” 

“No, sir, I ain’ goin’ to ask no imposs’bilities,” 
replied June, showing his teeth in a broad 
grin, “but I certainly am goin’ to projeck 
mightily aroun’ that tin pile. I reckon there’s a 
heap more pieces like I done fetched if I can fin’ 
’em.” 

“Maybe I’d better go along,” said Wayne, 
giving June the nickel. 

“No, sir, you stay right here an’ rest yourself, 
Mas’ Wayne. I can ’tend to that man without 

no help. Jus’ you get them victuals ready- 

What’s the matter, Mas’ Wayne V 9 

“Oh, nothing,” groaned Wayne, setting down 
the paper bag he had untied. “Only I forgot to 
ask them to grind the coffee, June! ’ ’ 

“Lawsy-y-y!” 


80 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


They gazed dejectedly at each other for a 
moment. Then June chuckled. “I reckon Til 
jus’ have to ask that Mister Man to throw 
in a coffee grinder, too!” he said. “Ain’ 
there no way to make coffee out of that, Mas’ 
Wayne?” 

‘ ‘ There must be,’ ’ was the answer. ‘ ‘ If we can’t 
do it any other way, we ’ll grind it with our teeth! 
You run along and see what you can find, June, 
and I’ll try to think up a way of grinding the 
coffee.” 

So June departed again and Wayne faced his 
problem, and when, some twenty minutes later, 
the darkey returned in triumph with a tin coffee¬ 
pot, a tin dish, a tin spoon, and several more 
sheets of the metal dug from the waste heap 
enough coffee for the evening meal was ready 
and Wayne was grinding the rest of their supply 
between two flat stones! “There’s more than 
one way to grind coffee,” he laughed, as June 
paused in the doorway to regard the proceeding 
in pardonable surprise. “I just remembered the 
way the Indians used to grind their corn. Or was 
it the Egyptians? Someone, anyhow. I had a 
dickens of a time finding these stones, though. 
There, that’s the last. It isn’t very fine, but I 
guess it will do well enough.” 

“Don’ it smell jus’ gran’?” asked June, sniff- 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


81 


ing the fragrance. “An’ look what I fetched, 
please, Mas’ Wayne. Look yere! Ain’ that a 
pretty fine coffee-pot? An’ ain’ that a pretty fine 
little dish? An’ look yere at the spoon! All 
them for a nickel, Mas’ Wayne! That man cer¬ 
tainly was good to me, yes, sir! I done tell him I 
ain’ got but a nickel an’ he say: ‘Nickel’s enough, 
nigger. What-all you wantin’?’ He say these 
yere things is ‘second,’ whatever he mean, but 
I reckon they goin’ to suit us all righty, ain’ 
they ? ’ ’ 

“They’re fine, June! You surely know how to 
get your money’s worth. But where are the 
blankets I told you to fetch?” 

“He goin’ to send them over in the mornin’,” 
replied June gravely. “Didn’ have none good 
enough, he say. How soon we goin’ to cook that 
coffee, Mas’ Wayne?” 

“Not for a long time yet,” said Wayne reso¬ 
lutely. “We aren’t going to have any supper at 
all until all these windows are fixed, June. It’s 
getting cold in here already and we’ll just natu¬ 
rally freeze tonight if we don’t get something over 
them. Come on and get to work. Where’s the 
tin?” 

It was almost twilight when they actually 
finished the undertaking. It is doubtful if they 
would have finished at all that evening if June 


82 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


hadn’t discovered a piece of tar paper nearly 
three yards long and a yard wide near the rail¬ 
road embankment. It was torn and held some 
holes, but it was far better than nothing and it 
covered three windows, with the aid of a few 
pieces of wood found in the same locality. Those 
windows presented a strange appearance, but 
nobody cared about the looks of them. At least, 
when the door was closed and the stove was going, 
the car was warm enough for comfort even if the 
smoke did bring tears to their eyes. Until the 
coffee was boiled they kept the fire up, but after 
that they were very glad to let it go out. 
They had the equivalent of two cups of coffee 
apiece and finished most of the bread and butter. 
They were very hungry and it was so much easier 
to satisfy present appetites than to give thought 
to the morrow. The coffee was somewhat muddy, 
but, as June said ecstatically, “it certainly did 
taste scrumptuous!” 

After supper they sat huddled in a corner of 
the seat opposite the dying fire and talked. For 
some reason their thoughts tonight dwelt largely 
with Sleepersville, and Wayne wondered this and 
June that, and they decided that at the very first 
opportunity Wayne was to write back there and 
let his stepfather and June’s mother know that 
they were alive and well. And they wondered 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


83 


about Sam, too, and how he would like this new 
home. And presently they stretched themselves 
out on the seat, sharing the horse blanket as best 
they could, and slumbered soundly. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE LUCK CHANGES 

The next day luck turned. Wayne went to work 
for Callahan’s Livery Stable, and June, happen¬ 
ing into the Union Hotel with a drummer’s 
sample cases, witnessed the discharge of a hell 
hoy, applied for the position, got it, was thrust 
into a dark-blue uniform and, half an hour later, 
was climbing stairs and answering calls as though 
he had done nothing else all his life. The wage 
was only three dollars a week, and out of that he 
was required to deposit ten dollars as security for 
the uniform, which meant that for three weeks he 
would get nothing from his employer. Ordinarily 
he would have had to deposit that ten dollars be¬ 
fore starting to work, but the fact that his services 
were badly needed at the moment and the fact 
that he neither had ten dollars nor could get it, 
caused the proprietor to waive the rule. But June 
didn’t bother about that ten dollars, for he knew 
that it was tips and not wages that counted in his 
job, and he believed in his ability to get the tips. 
He didn’t return to the new home very rich that 
84 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


85 


night, to be sure, for he hadn’t yet learned the 
ropes and his chances had been few, but it didn’t 
take him long to put his new position on a paying 
basis. At the end of three days everyone in the 
hotel knew June and liked him. He was always 
willing, always ready, and always cheerful. And 
he was always polite, a fact which made him a 
favourite with the guests, accustomed as they 
were to the half-sullen services of the other boys. 
Dimes and even quarters dropped into June’s 
pocket at a rate that astonished him. When, at 
the end of his second week of service, he counted 
up his wealth and discovered that it totalled the 
stupendous sum of nine dollars and eighty cents 
he rolled his eyes and confided to Wayne that he 
“didn’ know there was so much money in the 
whole world!” The main drawback to June’s 
work was that his period of duty began at six 
o’clock in the morning and lasted until four in the 
afternoon, necessitating a very early rising hour 
in the car. Wayne’s own duties didn’t begin until 
eight, and in consequence he had two hours on 
his hands that he didn’t know what to do with. 
Breakfast was always over by half-past five and 
a minute or two later June was streaking across 
the field to the railroad track. At about twenty- 
five minutes to six there was a milk train due and 
June had become an adept at swinging himself to 


86 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


a platform as it slowed down at the yard entrance. 
Just at first his presence, when discovered, was 
resented, but presently the train hands good- 
naturedly failed to see him and he rode into town 
huddled up on a car step. When, as infrequently 
happened, the train was late June was put to it to 
reach the hotel on time, but he always did it by 
hook or by crook even if he had to run most of the 
way over the uneven ties. 

Wayne’s job brought him seventy-five cents a 
day—when he worked. He didn’t always work, for 
it was only when one of the regular men was taken 
away to a drive at a funeral or a wedding that his 
services were required. But he had to report every 
morning, in any case, and it was rather surprising 
how many folks were married or buried in Med- 
field! He liked driving a carriage well enough, but 
waiting for fares at the station in all sorts of 
weather wasn’t pleasant. It was a sort of lazy job, 
too. On the whole, he was far from satisfied with it 
and continually kept his eyes open for something 
better. It was rather a blow to his pride to have 
June bring home four or five dollars each week 
while he almost never earned more than three. 
Still, he was thankful for what he got, for it 
enabled them to live very comfortably in their 
novel home. 

One of the first things Wayne did was to recover 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


87 


Sam. Denny Connor parted with the dog re¬ 
luctantly, but consoled himself with the fact that 
as Sam had been with him only four days and 
hadn’t got used to the change he wouldn’t miss 
him as much as he might have. 

“You see,” he confided, “it ain’t as if you slept 
a lot better for having a dog howl all night in the 
kitchen! ’ ’ 

Sam took to the new home at once. He ap¬ 
proved of it enthusiastically. Perhaps the free¬ 
dom of the country appealed to him after the 
confinement of town. At all events, he had a 
perfectly delirious time the first hour, running 
around the field, barking at everyone who passed 
along the railroad track and searching for rats 
under the car. His big adventure came later, 
though, when, after disappearing frenziedly and 
at full speed into the woods he returned a quarter 
of an hour after much chastened and with his 
muzzle bleeding profusely from several deep 
scratches. What his adversary had been they 
never knew. June offered the theory that Sam 
had been in mortal combat with a catamount. 
I don’t think June knew just what a catamount 
was, but he liked the word. Wayne said he 
guessed it was a “cat” without the “mount.” 
In any event, Sam displayed a strong dislike of 
the woods for weeks afterward. Wayne tried 


88 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

taking him to work with him at first, but Mr. 
Callahan objected to having the dog in the car¬ 
riage and made Wayne tie him in an empty stall 
in the stable. That didn’t please Sam a mite and 
he said so very loudly and continuously, so 
heartily, in fact, that the edict went forth that 
“that fool dog” was not to be brought there 
again. After that Wayne shut him up in the car 
when he left at half-past seven and was pursued 
for a quarter of a mile by Sam’s lamentations. 
Eventually the dog learned that he was not to 
follow, that his duty was to remain behind and 
guard the domicile, and he became reconciled. 

“Carhurst,” as Wayne dubbed the new home, 
was slowly but steadily rehabilitated. Now that 
there was money for the purpose the boys set out 
to turn the abandoned horse car into a real place 
of residence. Every day witnessed some improve¬ 
ment. The missing stovepipe was early replaced 
with two sections purchased at a junk dealer’s 
emporium and with a five-cent can of blacking 
June made stove and pipe shine like a new beaver 
hat. Red builder’s paper superseded the boards 
across the window frames, giving the car quite a 
cheerful appearance from without even if it added 
little to the lighting within. Sooner or later they 
meant to reglaze two windows on each side, and 
to that end June brought back a fine big lump of 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


89 


putty one afternoon which he had wheedled out 
of a painter at work in the hotel. After that, as 
Wayne complacently remarked, all they needed 
were points, a putty knife, and some glass! They 
put shelves up for their groceries, cooking utensils, 
and tableware, all largely augmented with return¬ 
ing prosperity, set a box on the more shaded plat¬ 
form to serve as an ice-chest, invested in four 
blankets and, in short, surrounded themselves 
with all sorts of luxuries! 

June solved the fuel problem very simply. 
Wood soon became scarce and they were forced 
to go far afield to find enough to cook meals with, 
while having a fire for the mere purpose of keep¬ 
ing warm on some of those raw nights of early 
spring was an extravagance not to be considered. 
Not, that is to say, until June had his brilliant 
idea. He disappeared one afternoon with the 
basket that they used to bring provisions home in 
and returned half an hour later bearing it on his 
head and filled to the brim with coal. The railroad 
tracks were black with it, he reported, and all they 
had to do was gather it up. Wayne found that a 
slight exaggeration, but it wasn’t at all a difficult 
matter to fill a basket without going out of sight 
of home. After that, when the weather was cold 
or rainy, they kept a fire going all day and night 
in the tiny stove, which, in spite of some infirmi- 


90 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


ties, served them faithfully and cheerfully and 
consumed little fuel. 

They had a few leaks to contend with when the 
rain drove against the car, leaks that simply re¬ 
fused to be located when the weather was dry and 
Wayne, armed with pieces of tin, and tacks, and a 
hammer went searching for them. But even more 
expensive houses leak, and it was a simple enough 
matter to move away from the trickles. To be 
sure, it wasn’t so pleasant when they awoke one 
very stormy night toward the first of April to 
find that the trough-shaped seat upon which they 
were reposing had turned itself into a reservoir 
for the collection of the rain driving in at a corner 
of the car. They had to open the draughts of the 
little stove and dry their blankets before they 
could go to sleep again on the opposite seat. And 
they had difficulties with the windows, too, occa¬ 
sionally, for the paper had a mean habit of break¬ 
ing loose under the combined assaults of wind and 
rain. At such times the old horse blanket, now 
discarded as an article of bedding, was used as a 
temporary shutter. Wayne threatened to varnish 
or shellac the paper so that it would turn the rain, 
but he never carried out the threat. 

June was the cook and a very good one. He 
had a positive talent for coffee and could really 
do wonders with a frying pan. They never at- 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


91 


tempted ambitious feats of cookery, but they lived 
well, if simply, and had all they wanted. Only 
breakfast and supper, the latter a rather hearty 
meal, were eaten at “Carhurst.” The midday 
meal was taken in the town. Wayne went to the 
Golden Star Lunch when he had opportunity, at 
other times patronising the counter in the station. 
June skirmished his lunches in the hotel kitchen, 
and, since everyone there from the chef to the 
scullery maid liked him, fared well. Sam ate 
twice a day to the boys’ knowledge and, it was 
suspected, levied toll at noon hour on the em¬ 
ployees of the stamping works. If there hadn’t 
been so many chipmunks and squirrels and, pos¬ 
sibly, worthier game to chase he would have 
waxed fat and lazy at this period of his history. 

They had been living at “Carhurst” something 
over three weeks when, quite unexpectedly, almost 
overnight, spring arrived. Of course, if they 
were to believe the almanac, spring had really 
been there some time, but they would never have 
suspected it. Some days there had been a mild¬ 
ness in the air that had seemed to presage the 
lady’s appearance, but it wasn’t until they awoke 
that April morning to the knowledge that the fire 
in the stove, as low as it was, was ‘‘super’oga- 
tory”—the word is June’s, and one he was ex¬ 
tremely fond of—and stuck their heads outdoors 


92 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


to find out why, that it seemed to them she had 
really arrived. It was like May rather than April. 
Although it was still only five o ’clock in the morn¬ 
ing, there was an unaccustomed warmth in the 
air and the east was rosy with the coming sun. 
It was after June had scudded off and Wayne had 
washed the few breakfast dishes and hung the 
dishcloth—yes, they had even attained to the 
luxury of a dishcloth by then!—over the platform 
rail and had seated himself on the step with Sam 
in his arms that the desire that affects almost all 
of us on the first warm morning of spring came 
to him. He wanted to grow something! 

At first glance the prospect of growing any¬ 
thing at “Carhurst” was not encouraging. The 
meadow was still soft and sodden with the spring 
rains and here and there little pools of water 
showed between the hummocks of turf. But when 
one becomes really possessed with the longing to 
have a garden it takes a great deal to discourage 
one. Wayne set Sam down and walked around 
the car and frowned intently over the problem. 
After all, he didn’t need a very big patch for his 
garden, and by filling in a few low places along 
the sunny side of the car and digging out the 
turf—turning it under would be better, but it en¬ 
tailed more labour than he felt capable of that 
lazy-feeling morning—he could have a patch about 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 93 

four yards long by a yard wide, quite big enough 
for his needs. He had no idea of raising such use¬ 
ful things as vegetables. His soul sighed for 
foliage and flowers. He wondered, though, what 
kinds of flowers grew up here in the North. He 
would, he decided, have to consult someone as to 
that. Probably the man he bought his seeds of 
would tell him. Anyhow, at the back of the bed, 
where it would shade the car in hot weather, he 
would have something tall. And in front he 
would grow pretty things with lots of colour. He 
talked it over all the while with Sam, and Sam in¬ 
dicated quite plainly that he considered it a per¬ 
fectly glorious idea, following Wayne around and 
around with his tail never for an instant still. 
Finally, Wayne drew forth the little leather bag 
in which he kept his money and viewed the con¬ 
tents doubtfully. Two dollars didn’t seem a great 
deal, but it would probably do if only he could 
borrow a shovel and rake and not have to buy 
them. All the way to town his mind dwelt on the 
project and he became so absorbed that he some¬ 
times forgot to keep on walking and came very 
near to being late at the stable. 

It was June who solved the problem of shovel 
and rake by borrowing both these necessary im¬ 
plements, as well as a hoe, at the stamping works. 
June had many friends there by that time and 


94 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

there was no difficulty at all. Wayne bought eight 
packages of flower seed—they were far cheaper 
than he had dared hope—and one afternoon the 
boys began the preparation of the garden. June 
was less enthusiastic than Wayne, but he lent 
willing assistance. June advocated the growing 
of useful things like corn and beans and “toma- 
tuses,” but acknowledged that the ground at their 
disposal was rather too small in area for much 
of a crop. Wayne compromised by agreeing to 
set out some tomato plants since they were, while 
not exactly flowers, attractive when in fruit. The 
job was a good deal harder than they had ex¬ 
pected, for that turf had been growing there a 
long while and resented being displaced. Sam 
tried to help, but his digging was merely spas¬ 
modic and seldom in the right place. 

They spent four evenings getting the plot of 
ground cleared of grass and graded up, and 
Wayne went to bed that fourth evening very tired 
but cheered by the anticipation of planting his 
garden the next morning. When morning came, 
however, a cold east wind was blowing across the 
field, the sun was hidden and it seemed as though 
Miss Spring must have drawn her flimsy garments 
about her and gone shivering back to the South¬ 
land. Instead of planting his seeds, Wayne spent 
the time between June’s departure and his own in 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 95 

sitting disgustedly in front of the stove and 
trying to get warm. He had awakened some time 
in the night to find himself uncomfortably chilly, 
his cover having fallen to the floor, and he hadn’t 
so far succeeded in driving away the little shivers 
that coursed up and down his back. He even 
sneezed orice or twice and sniffed a good deal, and 
was sorry when the time came for him to go to 
work. He felt strangely disinclined for exertion 
and the thought of the walk along the tracks to 
town quite dismayed him. But he put his sweater 
on and started out and felt better by the time he 
had been in the air awhile. The station platform 
was a rather exposed place and sitting beside it 
on the front seat of a carriage was not a very 
grateful occupation today. Wayne sneezed at 
intervals and blew his nose between sneezes and 
by noon had reached the conclusion that he had a 
cold. He wasn’t used to them and resented this 
one every time he had to drag his handkerchief 
out. There were few arrivals today and Wayne 
had little to do. When he took his horse back 
to the stable at twelve-thirty for his feed he 
climbed into an old hack in a far corner of the 
carriage-room and spent an uncomfortable three- 
quarters of an hour there. He didn’t want any 
lunch, although he had a dim notion that a cup 
of hot coffee would taste good. But that meant 


96 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


exertion, and exertion was something he had no 
liking for today. 

He was back at the station for the two-twenty- 
four and picked up two passengers for the hotel. 
He hoped that June would come out for the lug¬ 
gage, but it was another boy who attended to the 
arrivals and Wayne drove off again without see¬ 
ing June. It got no warmer as the afternoon 
progressed and Wayne was shivering most of 
the time. When the five o’clock express was in 
and he had satisfied himself that there were no 
fares for his conveyance he drove back to the 
stable as fast as the horse would trot, unhar¬ 
nessed, and set out for home. That walk seemed 
interminable and he thoroughly envied a gang of 
track workers who, having eaten their supper, 
were sitting at ease around a stove in an old box 
car which had been fitted up for living purposes. 
It was all Wayne could do to drag a tired and 
aching and shivering body past that stove! 

It was almost dusk when he finally crept down 
the embankment, squirmed between the wires of 
the fence and, with the light from “Carhurst” 
guiding him, floundered across the field. June 
had a fine fire going in the stove and when Wayne 
had pushed the door half open and squeezed 
through he simply slumped onto the seat and 
closed his eyes, immensely thankful for warmth 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 97 

and shelter. June viewed him at first with sur¬ 
prise and then with misgiving. 

‘‘What’s the matter with you, Mas’ Wayne?” 
he asked. 

Wayne shook his head and muttered: 44 Just 
tired, June.” Then he had a spasm of shivering 
and reached for a blanket. June observed him 
anxiously for a moment. Then: 

“You got a chill, that’s what you got,” he 
said decisively. “You lay yourself right down 
there an’ I’ll cover you up. My sakes!” 

The last exclamation was called forth by a 
sudden fit of sneezing that left Wayne weak and 
with streaming eyes. 

“Lawsy-y-y, child, but you got a cold sure 
enough!” said June. “What-all you been doin’, 
I like to know? You fix yourself for bed this yere 
minute. My goodness, ’tain’ goin’ to do for you 
to go an’ get sick, Mas’ Wayne!” 

June bustled around and brewed a pot of tea, 
a cup of which he insisted on Wayne’s swallow¬ 
ing while it was still so hot that it almost burned 
the latter’s mouth. After that June piled all the 
blankets on the invalid and sternly told him to 
go to sleep. Rather to Wayne’s surprise, he 
found that, as tired and played out as he was, 
sleep wouldn’t come. He had aches in queer 
places and his head seemed due to burst apart 


98 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


almost any moment. With half-closed eyes he lay 
and watched June cook and eat his supper. Now 
and then he dozed for a minute or two. The 
warmth from the stove, the hot tea he had drank, 
and the piled-on blankets presently had their ef¬ 
fect, and Wayne, muttering remonstrances, tried 
to throw off some of the cover. But June was 
after him on the instant. 

‘ 4 Keep them blankets over you, Mas’ Wayne,’’ 
he commanded sternly. “You got to sweat that 
cold out.” 

“I’m hot,” protested Wayne irritably. 

“I know you is, an’ you goin’ to be hot! Jus’ 
you leave them blankets alone an’ go to sleep.” 

After a long while Wayne opened his eyes 
again. He had been sleeping hours, he thought. 
He felt horribly uncomfortable and wondered 
what time it was. Then his gaze fell on June 
hunched up near the stove with Sam on his knees, 
and sighed. If June was still awake it couldn’t 
be late, after all. Presently he fell again into a 
restless, troubled sleep. In the corner June 
nodded, roused himself, looked at the recumbent 
form on the seat, reached across and tucked a 
corner of a gray blanket in and settled back in 
his corner. The firelight, finding its way through 
cracks and crevices in the stove, made streaks 
and splotches of light on the wall and ceiling, and 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


99 


one ray fell fairly on June’s face. Perhaps it 
was that ray of light that did the business, for 

presently his eyelids slowly closed- 

Somewhere, afar off, a clock struck three. 


CHAPTER VIII 


WAYNE LOSES A JOB AND FINDS ONE 

Wayne had the grippe, although as neither he 
nor June had ever had any experience of that 
complaint neither of them named it that. For 
four days he was a pretty sick boy, with fever 
and aches and inflamed eyes, and June was far 
more worried than he allowed the other to see. 
June had a mortal fear of ‘ ‘ pneumony,’’ and there 
was scarcely an hour when he was at home when 
Wayne wasn’t required to assure him that his 
chest wasn’t sore and that it didn’t hurt him to 
breathe. Two of the four nights June got almost 
no sleep, only dozing for a few minutes at a time 
as he sat huddled in the corner by the stove. 
The first day of the illness he stayed at home, 
after walking to the nearest telephone and ex¬ 
plaining his absence from duty to the Union Hotel. 
After that he took himself off each morning only 
because Wayne insisted, and was far from happy 
until he had got back again. He invested in three 
different varieties of patent medicine and ad¬ 
ministered them alternately in heroic doses, and 
100 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


101 


one of Wayne’s chief interests was the attempt 
to decide which of the three was the nastiest. It 
was a difficult question to decide, for the last one 
taken always seemed the worst. June also at¬ 
tempted the concoction of some “yarb tea” such 
as he had so often seen his mother make, but 
while it smelled the place up in a most satisfactory 
manner, June was never quite certain that it con¬ 
tained all it should have, and distrusted it ac¬ 
cordingly. There was one day, the second of the 
attack, when Wayne was in such agony with an 
aching head and body that June was all for find¬ 
ing a doctor and haling him posthaste to “Car- 
hurst.” Wayne, however, refused to listen to 
the plan, declaring that he would be all right 
tomorrow. “Besides,” he added weakly, “you 
couldn’t get a doctor to come away out here, 
anyhow. ’ ’ 

“Say I couldn’? Reckon if I tell a doctor man 
I got to have him and show him the money right 
in my fist, he goin’ to come where I say!” declared 
June sturdily. “Jus’ you let me fetch one, please, 
sir, Mas’ Wayne.” 

But Wayne insisted on waiting a little longer, 
and June rubbed the lame and achy spots and 
doubled the doses and, sure enough, after a most 
wretched night, Wayne felt better in the morn¬ 
ing. The nights were always the worst, for, 


102 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


while he slept for an hour now and then during 
the day, at night he was always wakeful. Illness 
always seems worse at night, anyway, and there 
was no exception in Wayne’s case. Poor June 
was driven nearly to his wits’ end some nights. 
Wayne was not, I fear, a very patient patient. 
He had never been as sick before in all his life 
and he resented it now forcibly and seemed in¬ 
clined to hold June in some way accountable for 
it. But that was only when he had really begun 
to get better, and June was so thankful for his 
recovery that he bore the other’s crankiness quite 
cheerfully. 

All things come to an end, and one day—it hap¬ 
pened to be a Sunday—Wayne got up for the first 
time and ate some real food. June had been try¬ 
ing to entice him with soup and gruel and similar 
things which Wayne unkindly termed “hog-wash” 
for two days with little success, but today Wayne 
consumed a lamb chop and two slices of toast and 
a cup of tea with gusto. And after it he went to 
sleep again and awoke in the afternoon quite him¬ 
self, save for an astonishing wabbliness in his 
legs. The next day he was out on the “front 
porch” in the warm sunlight when June departed 
to town, and still later he walked around some, to 
Sam’s vociferous delight, and cooked some lunch 
for himself and discovered a returning interest 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


103 


in the garden. And the next day he reported to 
Mr. Callahan for work again and was curtly in¬ 
formed that his place had been given to someone 
else. 

As June had visited the stable and told the 
liveryman of Wayne’s illness as soon as it became 
evident that the latter couldn’t go to work, and 
as Mr. Callahan had given June to understand 
that the position would be kept open, Wayne was 
too astounded to even make a reply, and it wasn’t 
until he was a full block away that it occurred 
to him to be either indignant or disappointed. 
And then, as neither indignation nor disappoint¬ 
ment promised any relief, he tried his best to 
swallow them and put his mind on the problem of 
finding other work. There was another livery 
stable in town that he knew of, and there might 
be still more that he didn’t know of, and, while 
driving a carriage wasn’t at all his idea of a 
satisfactory occupation, it brought money to his 
pocket and enabled him to live, and whereas he 
had not been particularly interested in living four 
days ago, today he was convinced that it was not 
only desirable but delightful. There is at least 
this to be said for an illness: after it is through 
with you it leaves you with a greater appreciation 
of life. 

Wayne visited the stable he knew of but re- 


104 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


ceived no encouragement. The foreman told him 
that they had all the men they needed and that 
they didn’t expect to have a vacancy in the near 
future. He directed Wayne to another livery, 
however, at the farther side of town, and Wayne 
set off. His course took him over the railroad 
about a block beyond the freight sheds. It was 
nearly nine by then and the scene about him was 
a very busy one. Cars were loading and unload¬ 
ing beside the long, high platforms, while, on the 
other side of the sheds, trucks and drays were 
coming and going along the cobbled street. A 
switch engine was tooting frantically for a switch 
and a long train of day coaches and sleepers sent 
Wayne scurrying out of the way. Then an im¬ 
patient engine clanged up with a couple of 
gondolas laden with machinery and contemptu¬ 
ously jerked them onto a side-track, spurting off 
again as though vastly relieved to be rid of such 
trifling company. There were many tracks where 
Wayne crossed and one had to keep one’s eyes 
opened. When he was half-way over a pounding 
of the rails caused him to look down the line. A 
long train of empty box cars was backing toward 
him at a brisk speed, the locomotive out of sight 
at the far end. Wayne hurried his pace and 
reached an empty track in plenty of time, and 
was for paying no more heed to the string of 



Wayne’s Cry Was 
F orward 


U ttered 


Involuntarily 


as he Leaped 



















































































































































































































































































SECOND BASE SLOAN 105 

empties until a shout behind him brought his 
head quickly around. 

On the roof of the first car a man was doing 
two things at once. He was yelling at the top of 
his voice and swinging himself over the end of the 
car to the ladder there as fast as he could. A 
few yards distant, squarely in the middle of the 
track, stood a boy of five or six years. After¬ 
ward Wayne wondered where he had come from, 
for surely he had not been in sight a moment 
before, but just now there was no time for specu¬ 
lation. The child, terrorised into immobility, 
stood as though rooted to the cinders between the 
rails. Wayne ’s cry was uttered involuntarily 
as he leaped forward. Only one line of track 
separated him from the boy, but it seemed impos¬ 
sible for him to reach the latter before the bumper 
of the box car struck him. 

As Wayne dashed forward with a horrified, sick¬ 
ening fear at his heart the brakeman dropped 
from the car ladder. But he staggered as his feet 
touched the ground, and had the boy’s safety de¬ 
pended on him he would never have escaped. It 
was Wayne who caught him up roughly and half 
lifted, half dragged him across the further rail 
to safety just as the end of the car swept over 
the spot on which he had stood. So close was the 
escape that the corner of the car struck Wayne’s 


106 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


hip and sent him reeling to fall on his knees 
against the end of the ties of the next track, the 
child sprawled beside him. Dazed, breathless, 
Wayne struggled to his feet, pulling the lad up 
with him. Twenty feet distant a switch engine 
had stopped with grinding brakes, and engineer 
and fireman were running toward him. The train 
of empty box cars rolled stolidly on, but in a mo¬ 
ment began to slow down with much bumping and 
clatter of couplings, while back along the roofs 
sped the brakeman whose warning shout had 
alarmed Wayne. Just what happened during the 
next few minutes Wayne couldn’t recall after¬ 
ward. The lad, his face crushed to Wayne’s 
worn coat, was sobbing hysterically. The en¬ 
gineer and fireman were there, and presently the 
brakeman dropped down beside them, and after 
that other men appeared as though by magic. 
Everyone talked at once and it was all very con¬ 
fused. Someone took the boy from Wayne and 
lifted him in arms and someone else propelled 
Wayne across toward the freight house. About 
that time the talk around him began to register 
itself on his brain. 

“’Tis Jim Mason’s kid,” said one. “’Twould 
have broke his heart entirely had the lad been 
hurted!” 

“Hurted!” scoffed another. “Sure, ’tis dead 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 107 

he’d be this minute save for this la-ad here! 
’Twas a close shave at that, I’m telling you. 
Faith, I shut my eyes, I did so!” It was either 
the engineer or the fireman speaking. “Are you 
hurted, me boy!” This was to Wayne, and Wayne 
shook his head silently. “Your hands be cut a 
bit, but they’ll soon mend.” 

“You’d better wash the dirt out,” advised 
another as they climbed the steps at the end of 
the platform. “I’ve known lockjaw to come from 
less, and- 

But just then they entered the dim twilight of 
the shed and Wayne, pushed ahead by his good- 
natured captors, lost the rest of the cheerful re¬ 
mark. Someone shouted for “Jim! Jim Mason!” 
and an answering hail came from further down 
the shed and a big man advanced toward them, 
illumined for a moment as he passed one of the 
wide, sunlit doorways. 

“What’s wanted!” he shouted. 

“’Tis your kid, Jim,” was the reply. “Nearly 
run over he was a minute back. All right, laddie, 
here’s your father cornin’. Hush your cryin’ 
now. ’ ’ 

“Terry!” The big man’s voice held wonder 
and alarm and joy. He sprang across the inter¬ 
vening space and seized the child from the arms 
that held him. “Terry! Are you hurt, darling! 


108 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

What were you doing on the tracks? Don’t cry, 
son, it’s over now.” He turned questioningly to 
the sympathetic faces about him, faces that were 
grinning only because tears were so near the 
eyes. “How did it happen, fellows? Who saw 
it?” 

“Him and me,” answered one man, “and Larry 
there. Larry was riding the roof on a string of 
empties when he seen the boy on the track-” 

“Holy Saints, but I was scared stiff!” broke 
in the brakeman. “I gave a shout and tried to 
get down the ladder, but when I jumped I hit 
the end of a tie, Jim, and it was this fellow-” 

“Grabbed him up in the nick o’ time,” went on 
another. “I seen it from the cab window. There 
wasn’t the width of an eyelash between the car 
and the child when he got him. Sure, even then 
I thought it was good night to the pair of them. 
The car hit the fellow as he jumped and-” 

“So ’twas you?” said Jim Mason in his big, 
deep voice. “’Twas brave of you, sir, and God 
bless you for it.” He had the child on one big- 
arm now and stretched his free hand toward 
Wayne. “I guess I don’t need to say I’m thank¬ 
ful to you. You know that, sir. I think a deal of 

this little kiddie, and as for his mother-” His 

voice trembled. “Heaven only knows what she 
would do if anything happened to him! She’ll 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


109 


thank you better than I can, but if there’s any¬ 
thing Jim Mason can do for you, why, you say it!” 

“It was nothing,” stammered Wayne. “I’m 
glad that—that I was there, and that I—was in 
time, sir.” 

“God be praised and so am I!” said the father 
fervently. “Hush your crying now, Terry. It’s 
your father that’s got you. Can you thank the 
brave lad for saving you?” 

But Terry couldn’t. Terry was as yet incapable 
of anything but sobs. Wayne, wanting to go, 
scarcely knew how. Mechanically he raised a 
bruised knuckle to his lips and Jim Mason was 
all solicitude. 

“You’ve cut your fist!” he exclaimed. “Come 
to the office with me till I fix it up for you. 
There’s dirt in it, likely. Larry, I’m thanking 
you, too, for what you did,” he added, turning to 
the brakeman. “I’ll not forget it.” 

“Sure, I did nothing,” laughed the brakeman 
embarrassedly, “only yell!” 

“It was his shout that drew my attention,” 
said Wayne. “He tried hard to get to him.” 

“What matter now?” muttered the brakeman. 
“ ’Tis all over, and ’twas you was Johnny-on-the- 
Spot, feller. ’Twas finely done, too, and no mis¬ 
take ! I take my hat oft to you for a fine, quick- 
thinkin’ and quick-doin’ laddie!” 


110 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


6 ‘Why, I know you now!” said Jim Mason at 
that moment. “I was thinking all the time I’d 
seen you before. You’re the kid—I mean the 
young gentleman—that spoke me one morning a 
couple of weeks ago. You had a nigger boy with 
you, and a dog. Ain’t I right?” 

“Yes, Mr. Mason, but it was more than two 
weeks ago,” answered Wayne. “I—I’m glad to 
see you again.” 

“Well, if you’re glad, what about me?” bel¬ 
lowed Jim Mason. “Thank you all, fellows. I’ll 
mend this gentleman’s hand now. Will you come 
with me, please?” 

Wayne followed the man to the farther end of 
the freight house where, occupying a corner that 
afforded a view down the long stretch of shining 
tracks, there was a cubby-hole of an office. A 
high desk, a correspondingly tall stool, a bat¬ 
tered armchair, a straight-backed chair, a stove, 
and a small table made up the furnishings. The 
wails held many hooks on which were impaled 
various documents, a shelf filled with filing-cases, 
several highly-coloured calendars, a number of 
pictures cut from magazines and newspapers, and, 
over one of the two dusty-paned windows, a yard- 
long framed photograph of “The Lake-to-Coast 
Limited.” In spite of dust and confusion, a 
confusion which as Wayne later discovered was 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


111 


more apparent than real, the little office had a 
cosy, comfortable air, and the sunlight, flooding 
through the front window, made even the dust- 
motes glorious. 

Jim Mason set the child in a chair, produced a 
first-aid kit from some place of concealment, and 
proceeded to repair the damages wrought by the 
cinders. There was running water outside, and 
the wounds, none of them more than surface 
scratches, were first thoroughly cleaned. Then 
peroxide was liberally applied, the man grunting 
with satisfaction when the stuff bubbled. Finally 
surgeon’s tape was put on, and Wayne was dis¬ 
charged. During his administrations Jim Mason 
asked questions at the rate of a dozen a minute, 
and soon had Wayne’s history down to date. 
The liveryman’s callousness wrought him to 
gruff indignation. 

“ Fired you because you was sick, did he, the 
pup? What do you know about that? Sit down 
and rest yourself, lad.” He perched himself on 
the stool and became busy with a pile of waybills 
on the desk, talking as he worked. "And so 
you’re out of a job again, are you? I suppose a 
smart lad like you can figure and write a good 
fist, maybe?” 

"I can figure,” replied Wayne, "but I don’t 
believe my writing’s much to boast of.” 


112 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


“Here, put your name and your address on 
that.” Jim pushed a slip of paper to the end of 
the desk and dipped a pen in ink. 

Wayne wrote and handed the result back. 
“ ‘Wayne Torrence Sloan/ ” read Jim, “ ‘Car- 
hurst, Medfield, Pennsylvania.’ That’s not so 
bad. But what might ‘ Carhurst’ mean 1 9 9 

Wayne explained and the man chuckled. “It’s 
a fine-sounding name all right , 9 9 he said. ‘ ‘ How’d 
you like a job here with me, Sloan? I been looking 
for a feller for a week. There’s a guy up to 
Springdale that wants the place, and he’s coming 
down this afternoon to see me, but—I don’t 
know.” Jim looked out the window and whistled 
a tune thoughtfully. “He mightn’t do at all,” 
he went on after a moment, “and if you say you 
want to try it-” 

“I do!” said Wayne promptly. “That is, if 
you think I could. ’ ’ 

Jim turned and looked him over appraisingly. 
“I don’t see why not. If you can figure and 
write a bit and do as I tell you, you’d have no 
trouble. And you look like a strong, healthy lad, 
although your face is sort of pale. That comes of 
being sick, I guess. ’Tain’t all office work, for 
you’ll have to be out in the yard a good deal. 
You’d be here at eight in the morning—I’m here 
long before, but you wouldn’t need to be—and get 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 113 

off at five, with an hour fox dinner. The pay ain’t 
much, only eight dollars, but if you got on there 
might be something better; maybe a place in the 
main office. Want to try it?” 

“Very much,” said Wayne. 

“All right then. Maybe I can head that feller 
at Springdale off and save him a trip. ’ ’ He drew 
a telegram blank from a pigeonhole and wrote 
slowly and laboriously. “Maybe I’m taking a 
chance, lad, for I don’t know much about you, 
do you see, and you haven’t any references, but 
a feller that shows pluck like you did awhile ago 
can’t have much wrong with him, I’m thinking. 
There, I’ll put this on the wire. Be around at 
eight sharp in the morning, lad, and I’ll put you 
to work. Better come a bit before eight, though, 
so’s I can tell you what’s wanted before the rush 
starts. Got any money?” 

“A little, sir.” 

“Get yourself a suit of overalls; black like 
these. You’ll need ’em likely. Now I got to do 
something with this kid.” Jim turned and ob¬ 
served his offspring frowningly. Terry had at 
last stopped sobbing and was watching inter¬ 
estedly through the front window the operation 
of unloading a car. “How he came to be wander¬ 
ing about here I dunno. And maybe his mother’s 
worrying about him this minute. He ought 


114 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

to be home, but I don’t see how I can get him 
there.” 

“Let me take him home,” offered Wayne 
eagerly. “Just tell me where the house is, Mr. 
Mason.” 

The man’s face lightened. “Will you do it?” 
he exclaimed. “That’s fine, then. Will you go 
with the nice gentleman, Terry?” 

Terry looked doubtful, but when Wayne smiled 
down at him he nodded shyly and summoned a 
smile in return. 

“I live on Monmouth Street,” said Jim. “ ’Tis 
the fourth house from the corner of Railroad Ave¬ 
nue, the one with the sun-parlor on it.” There 
was pride in his voice when he mentioned the sun- 
parlor and Wayne was quite certain that it was 
the only sun-parlor on Monmouth Street. “Ask 
for Mrs. Mason and just tell her the kid was down 
to see me and I sent him home by you. Don’t 
tell her about what happened, lad. She’d be tied 
up in a knot. I’ll give her the story when I get 
home. Maybe you’d better go around to the back, 
for I dunno would she hear you knock, being busy 
in the kitchen likely. Do you want the nice gentle¬ 
man to carry you, Terry, or will you walk along 
like a little man, eh?” 

“Want to be carried,” said Terry promptly. 
“I’m tired, daddy.” 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


115 


“’Tis a blessing you ain’t worse than tired, 
kiddie/’ said his father feelingly. “How came 
it you were down here all alone, Terry ?” 

Terry studied his shoes intently for a moment. 
At last: “Wanted to see choo-choos, ,, he 
answered. 

“Listen to me, Terry. Don’t you ever come 
around the choo-choos again without somebody’s 
with you. If you ever do I’ll whale you, kid. 
Bemember that. Now go along with the gentle¬ 
man and be a good boy.” 

Wayne carried Terry until they were across 
the tracks and then the child demanded to be set 
down. “You don’t carry Terry like daddy does,” 
he complained. “Want to walk?” So they went 
the rest of the way hand in hand, Terry, now most 
communicative, talking incessantly. Wayne had 
a very hazy idea as to the location of Monmouth 
Street and Terry’s directions were difficult to 
follow, so he had to ask his way several times. 
But he found the house eventually, easily identify¬ 
ing it by the sun-parlor which stood out at one 
end of a tiny front porch like a sore thumb. Mrs. 
Mason proved to be a comely, smiling-faced 
woman apparently some years Jim’s senior. 
Terry, she explained, as she wiped her hands on 
her apron in the back doorway, had been turned 
out to play in the yard, and he was a bad boy to 


116 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


run away like that. ‘ 4 You might have been 
killed/’ she told the child severely, “and the Lord 
only knows why you wasn’t. Thank you, sir, for 
bringin’ him back, and I hope he was no trouble 
to you.” 

“Not a bit, Mrs. Mason. He behaved beautifully. 
Good-bye, Terry. Be a good boy now and don’t 
run off again.” 

“Good-bye,” answered Terry, politely but in¬ 
differently. “I got a hen, I have, an’ she’s going 
to have a lot of little chickens pretty soon. Want 
to see her?” 

“Not today, Terry, thanks,” laughed Wayne. 
“Maybe I’ll come and see her after the chickens 
are hatched.” 

“All right. Mama, can I have some bread and 
sugar?” 

Wayne left while that question was being de¬ 
bated and hurried off uptown, first to tell June 
the wonderful news and then to purchase that 
black jumper. There was a new quality in the 
April sunshine now and Wayne discovered for 
the first time that Medfield was an attractive 
place after all. The folks he passed on the street 
looked friendly, the clanging of the trolley car 
gongs fell pleasantly on his ear; in short, the world 
had quite changed since early morning and was 
now a cheerful, hopeful place, filled with sunshine 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


117 


and bustle and ambition. Wayne’s spirits soared 
like the billowing white clouds of steam above 
the buildings and he whistled a gay little tune as 
he went along. 


CHAPTER IX 


BIG TOM MAKES AN OFFER 

He spent the afternoon, after his return to “Car- 
hurst,” in planting his garden and had the seeds 
all in by the time June came. He displayed the 
result proudly. Every row was marked with a 
little stick on which was perched the empty seed 
packet like a white nightcap. June admired flat¬ 
teringly and then, for so it always happens, 
criticised. 

“Seems to me like you ought to put them rows 
’tother way roun’, Mas’ Wayne, ’cause the sun 
goin’ to shine this yere way. Back home they 
always set the rows with the sun . 9 ’ 

“That’s so, June,” acknowledged Wayne. “I 
forgot that.” But he was in far too fine spirits 
to be worried by a little thing like that. He said 
he reckoned they’d grow just the same, and June 
agreed with him, but a trifle doubtfully. Then 
June questioned whether the planting had been 
done at the right time of the moon, and Wayne 
lost patience and told him to get busy and help 
carry stones for a border. They had to fairly dig 
118 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


119 


for those stones and it was almost twilight by the 
time they had the bed neatly edged. Then June 
washed up and set about his culinary duties, leav¬ 
ing Wayne outside to admire his handiwork 
from various angles and try to picture mentally 
the appearance of that bed three months 
later. 

Wayne had brought home a slice of ham as a 
special delicacy and June fried it to a turn, after 
cutting it in three pieces to fit the diminutive 
pan, and made coffee, and cut bread, and opened 
a can of peaches, and, in brief, prepared a banquet 
fit for Luculus—or two very healthy and hungry 
boys, one of whom had been on short rations for 
a week! Afterward, by the light of a swinging 
lantern which had taken the place of the candles 
with which they had at first tried to illumine their 
abode, Wayne read from the newspapers that 
June picked up at the hotel and brought home 
with him. June had a weakness for such things 
as robberies, murders, fires, shipwrecks, and simi¬ 
lar sensations, while Wayne always looked for the 
baseball news first. So, to be quite fair, he alter¬ 
nated, reading first, perhaps, the story of a Texas 
bank robbery and following with an interesting 
rumour regarding the trade of Catcher Moffet 
to the Pirates by the Braves. Toward the last of 
the news budget, especially if the robberies and 


120 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


train wrecks and such gave out, June usually 
fell asleep and snored unflatteringly, and Wayne 
finished his perusal in silence. But tonight the 
latter early exhausted the papers and the boys 
fell to a discussion of Wayne’s new job and to 
laying plans for the future. 

“Of course,” said Wayne, “if I get eight dol¬ 
lars a week it won’t be long before we can go on to 
New York.” He made the observation without 
apparent enthusiasm, however. For the past 
fortnight New York had slipped out of their con¬ 
versation. June nodded, opened his mouth, closed 
it again without speaking and once more nodded. 
“It doesn’t cost us more than three dollars a 
week to live and so we’d have twenty dollars saved 
up in no time at all,” Wayne added. 

“That’s so,” agreed the other. “Beckon New 
York’s a mighty fine city, ain’ it?” 

“Wonderful, June.” 

“Uh-huh. Bigger’n Medfield consid’able?” 

“Medfield! Why, New York’s a thousand times 
bigger than Medfield, you silly!” 

“Say it is?” June digested that in silence for 
a moment. Then: “Must be a powerful big ol’ 
place, Mas’ Wayne,” he said dolorously. “Ain’ 
you afraid we’d get lost or somethin’. There was 
a feller I know got lost in Atlanta one time an’ 
he didn’ find hisself for days an’ days, no sir! 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 121 

AiC I ’spects New York’s a heap bigger’n Atlanta, 
ain’ it?” 

“Lots bigger. Atlanta’s just a village com¬ 
pared to New York.” 

“Uh-huh.” June remained silent this time for 
many minutes, and Wayne too seemed engrossed 
in thought. Finally, though, June said: “Mas’ 
Wayne, what we-all got to go to New York for, 
sir? Why don’t we stay jus’ where we is? We’s 
both of us got jobs here, an’ goodness only knows 
what’s goin’ to happen to us in that big oF place! 
Why don’t we stay put, Mas’ Wayne?” 

“Well,” answered the other slowly, “we started 
for New York, June, you know.” 

“Yes, sir, we surely done started for it, but we 
don’t have to get where we started for, does we? 
01’ Eph Jennings, he started for the circus one 
day but he fotched up in the calaboose, Mas’ 
Wayne. Startin’ an’ stoppin’s mighty different 
things, I reckon. Let’s us stay right here a little 
while longer, please, sir.” 

“All right, June. I—I guess I’d rather, any¬ 
way,” answered Wayne. 

The next morning he started at his new work, 
rather doubtful as to his ability to perform it 
satisfactorily but determined to try his very 
hardest. There were two reasons for that, one 
the necessity of earning money and the other 


122 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


a strong desire to please Jim Mason and prove 
that he had made no mistake in his choice of a 
helper. By evening of that first day, however, 
Wayne knew that the work was not beyond him, 
and he went home at dusk happy in the knowledge. 
Perhaps someone who had the interests of the 
boy less at heart might have made that first day 
in the freight house far from simple for him, 
for, of course, the duties were new and strange, 
but Jim was patient and explained everything 
clearly and in detail. Wayne found that his 
mathematical ability was more than enough to 
cope with such simple problems as fell to him. 
Most of that morning was occupied in filing away 
an accumulation of papers that had got far ahead 
of Jim during the time he had had no assistant. 
There were waybills to check after that, and once 
Wayne had to go up and down the yard on a vain 
search for a mislaid flat car loaded with two trac¬ 
tor engines. Jim, relieved of much of the clerical 
work, was busy outside most of the day, but he 
and Wayne ate their lunches together in the little 
office, Jim sharing the can of coffee he had brought. 

As the days went on Wayne’s tasks multiplied. 
He went errands to the main office down the track 
a block, he tacked waycards to freight cars, be¬ 
came an adept with lead seals and pincers, learned 
how to coax open a door that had “frozen,” be- 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


123 


came friends with most of the workers and truck¬ 
men—not a difficult task since the story of his 
timely rescue of little Terry Mason had gone the 
rounds and even got in the Medfield Evening Star , 
although Wayne didn’t learn of that until later 
and never read the account of his heroism—and 
got on very famously for a new hand. And he 
liked his work, which is always half the battle. 
Jim began to trust him with bigger things when 
he had been there a fortnight, and Wayne proved 
worthy of the trust. Perhaps the things weren’t 
so vastly important, after all, but they seemed so 
to Wayne; to Jim, too, for that matter, for Jim 
was extremely conscientious and took his work 
seriously. After a few days Wayne got to walk¬ 
ing across the tracks and up the line a ways to the 
Golden Star Lunch. He was always sure of a 
welcome there, and sometimes, when the wagon 
wasn’t very full, he and ‘‘Mister Denny” had 
long and serious conversations on a variety of 
subjects. Denny had a fair education, was an 
omnivorous reader, a good listener and held views 
of his own. Moreover, he could put his views 
into words. They were sometimes unusual, but 
Wayne had a feeling that it was a heap better to 
have opinions and be able to state them, even if 
they were queer, than to merely agree with every¬ 
one else. 


124 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


There was one subject that never failed them as 
a conversational topic, and that was baseball. 
Denny was a ‘‘thirty-third degree fan” if ever 
there was one. Besides that he had some practi¬ 
cal knowledge of the game, for he had played it 
from the time he was four feet high until he had 
bought the lunch-wagon and set up in business. 
Wayne’s command of baseball history and per¬ 
centages was nothing like Denny’s, but he fol¬ 
lowed the news closely and there were some rare 
discussions at times in the Golden Star. Many of 
the freight handlers and truck drivers patronised 
Denny’s cafe and Wayne was surprised to find 
how much they knew of the national pastime and 
how intelligently they could talk of it. Quite 
frequently the lunch-wagon shook with the ardour 
of debate, for there were deep and hearty voices 
in the company. But a time shortly came when 
Wayne didn’t loiter in the Golden Star after his 
lunch was eaten, for he had found by then a better 
way to spend the remaining time. 

He had been in the freight house about a fort¬ 
night and May had come to the world, bringing 
ardent sunshine and soft breezes. Green leaves 
were unfolding and the meadows were verdant. 
It was sometimes a task in those first warm days 
to move, and the trucks that rolled incessantly 
from cars to platform and from platform to 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


125 


freight house moved more slowly. One noontime 
Wayne felt too languorous to walk even as far as 
Denny’s, and so he bought two sandwiches and 
some apples from a man who came around with a 
basket and joined the throng on the shaded plat¬ 
form where the trucks stood. After a while one of 
the younger fellows pulled a baseball from his 
pocket and soon a half-dozen were throwing and 
catching in the wide cobble-paved road behind the 
sheds. Wayne watched lazily and interestedly 
until a wild throw sent the hall rolling under a 
truck to his feet. He jumped down and rescued 
it and threw it back, choosing the man farthest 
distant and speeding the hall to him so hard and 
true that shouts of commendation rewarded him. 

44 Come on out here, kid, and take a hand,” 
called one of the players, and Wayne, glad enough 
to do it, responded, forgetting that a quarter of 
an hour ago he had felt too lazy to walk two 
blocks. There was lots of fun to he had, for many 
of the players, Wayne amongst them, had not 
handled a hall since the summer before and the 
44 hot ones” made them wince and yell, something 
that always brought laughter from the rest. Soon 
a dozen or so were at it and the ball passed from 
one to another, up and down the road. Occasion¬ 
ally a fly would go up and a mad scramble ensue 
in which hats fell off and the ball, as like as not, 


126 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


escaped them all. Wayne thoroughly enjoyed 
that half-hour and resolved to buy a base¬ 
ball on his way home so that he and June could 
pass. 

A few days later someone produced a bran- 
new bat and the fun increased. At the end of a 
week or so they were playing “scrub” every noon- 
hour, and by common consent the truckmen left 
their vehicles at the far end of the platform so 
that there would be more room for playing. Even 
so the diamond was pretty narrow and the dis¬ 
tance from first base to third was ludicrously 
short. A ball hit to right or left performed 
strange antics, bounding from w T all or platform 
and landing almost anywhere in infield or out. 
Freight handlers, truckmen, clerks from the main 
office, switchmen, even “Big Tom” Maynard, who 
ran the Limited and laid over in Medfield twice 
a week, took part. And there was a slim, good- 
looking youth named Pattern who worked in the 
office of the coal company several blocks away and 
who could pitch a ball so that you couldn’t see it 
until it had passed you. With the exception of 
Pattern and possibly a truckman named Donovan, 
who had once played semi-professional ball on 
some team in New Jersey, Wayne was the star of 
the gatherings. He never failed of a hit save 
when Pattern was in the points, and even then 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


127 


was the only one who could come near to meeting 
that youth’s offerings, and fielded remarkably. 
So, at least, the less adept considered. 4 4 Big 
Tom,” who by virtue of having the best run on the 
road was accorded unusual respect, told Wayne 
he was wasting his time. It was a noon when 
a sudden shower had driven them to the shelter 
of the overhang. 

“If I had a wing like you’ve got, kid, I’d be 
training for the Big League. I surely would. 
You’re a natural-born ball player, son. I know 
a fellow up in Lebanon who’ll be glad to give you 
a try-out if you say the word.” 

“I reckon I’d better stick to what I’m sure of,” 
laughed Wayne. “I reckon I wouldn’t last very 
long up there.” 

“Sure you would,” said Big Tom earnestly. 
“And look at the money you’d be getting! They 
wouldn’t pay you a cent under twenty dollars, 
kid!” 

“But I’m getting thirty-five here, Mr. May¬ 
nard. ’ ’ 

“You’re what? Thirty-five a week?” 

“No,” stammered Wayne, “thirty-five a 
month. ’ ’ 

“What you talking about then? Twenty a 
week’s what they’d pay you up in Lebanon. 
Maybe a lot more. Tell you what I’ll do, kid; 


128 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


I’ll tell this fellow about you the next time I 
see him, eh?” 

But Wayne shook his head. “ Thanks, but I 
reckon I’ll stick here,” he answered. 

Big Tom told him he was making a mistake and 
appealed for confirmation to Pattern who had 
joined them. Pattern laughed. ‘ ‘ Twenty dollars, 
you say? What sort of a team is it, Maynard?” 

“It’s a corking good team, that’s what 
sort-” 

“I mean is it professional? Or semi or what?” 

“Why, I guess it’s a professional team. Sure 
it is. They play in the Central City League.” 

“I see. Well, I’d advise this fellow to keep 
out of it then. He’d be wasting his time with a 
bunch of pikers like that.” Pattern turned from 
Big Tom’s indignant countenance to Wayne. 
“When you think you’d like to play ball for a 
living, you tackle the manager of a real team. 
Tell him you want a try-out. He will give it to 
you if he’s any good. If he isn’t you don’t want 
to join him. These two-by-twice ball teams don’t 
get you anything but a lot of hard work and you 
can stay in one of them until you’re gray-headed 
without doing any better for yourself. I played 
with one of them one summer and I know some¬ 
thing about them. When you aim, aim high. It 
pays.” 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


129 


“I wasn’t thinking of aiming at all,” said 
Wayne. “I don’t reckon I could play baseball 
good enough for a real team.” 

“Maybe you could and maybe you couldn’t,” 
replied Pattern. ‘ ‘ Anyway, don’t throw up a good 
job on the off-chance of becoming a Ty Cobb or 
a Baker.” 

Big Tom took himself off, disgruntled and 
grumbling, and Pattern swung himself to the plat¬ 
form at Wayne’s side. “How old are you?” he 
asked, and raised his eyebrows when Wayne told 
him seventeen. “I’d have thought you were 
eighteen, anyway,” he said. “Played much?” 

“I played four years at home,” answered 
Wayne, “on my school team. And one summer 
with a team we got up in our town.” 

“That all? Well, some fellows are like that. 
Sort of born with the baseball knack. Comes 
naturally to them. My roommate in college was 
that sort. He didn’t have to learn, you might 
say. He was the shiftiest shortstop I ever saw 
outside professional teams. You sort of remind 
me of him the way you handle the ball.” 

“Do they really pay as much as twenty dollars 
a week ? ’ ’ asked Wayne. 6 ‘ I mean just for fielders. 
Of course I know that pitchers and star batters 
get lots of money, but I always thought most of 
it was just—just on paper.” 


130 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

“ There are all sorts of salaries. You get some¬ 
where near what you Ye worth, as a general thing. 
Twenty a week is poor pay for a good fielder, my 
boy, even in the bushes. Thirty-five’s more like 
it.” 

‘ ‘ Thirty-five dollars a week! ’’ exclaimed Wayne. 
“Why, that’s more than two hundred a month!” 


CHAPTER X 


NEW FRIENDS 

“Yes, I believe it figures out something like that,” 
laughed the other. “But, mind you, I’m not say¬ 
ing you could get that. Probably you couldn’t 
get anything yet. You’re a year or two too 
young. If I were you, and thought seriously of 
playing professional ball, I’d get on some amateur 
team this year and play with them for the 
practice. ’ ’ 

“What’s the difference, please, between an 
amateur team and a professional ? ’ ’ 

“Money. On an amateur team you play for the 
love of playing and nothing else. On a profes¬ 
sional team you play for the love of playing plus 
a fat salary.” 

“I see,” murmured Wayne. “But could I—I 
mean would you-” 

“Sure, if I needed the money,” was the answer. 
“I wouldn’t be a professional ball player and 
expect to stick at it all my life. You can’t do it. 
The pace is too hard. But if I had the ability and 
could command a good salary for playing ball 
131 


132 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

I’d do it, and keep my eyes open for something 
better. I know a chap who played professional 
ball for six years and studied law in the winter 
and whenever he got a chance. Then he went into 
an office two winters. After that he quit baseball 
and now he’s doing well over in Trenton. Lots 
of folks think professional baseball is like high¬ 
way robbery or something. They class profes¬ 
sional ball players and prize fighters and thugs all 
together. I guess there was a time when some 
ball players were a roughish lot, but that’s gone 
by. Most of them are just like the rest of us 
nowadays. A lot of them lead cleaner lives than 
the folks who knock them. They have to, for one 
thing. Anyway, they do it. You can be a pro¬ 
fessional ball player now and be a gentleman, too. 
Most of them are. A great many are college 
fellows; practically all are educated. They don’t 
expect to make a life’s work of it, you see. 
They’ve got the gift of playing good ball and they 
turn it into money, just the same as a man who 
has the gift of teaching Greek turns it into money. 
It’s just a business proposition. Where your 
ball player has it on some of the rest of us is just 
here: he likes his work and we don’t!” 

Pattern knocked the ashes from his pipe against 
the edge of the platform and yawned. ‘ ‘ I’ve got 
to get back,” he announced. “It’s nearly one. 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 133 

Think over what I said about joining an amateur 
team and getting practice, my boy. That’s your 
best move.” He nodded, smiled, and hurried 
away, leaving Wayne, for some reason, rather 
excited. 

He had never considered playing baseball for 
a living, had never taken his ability seriously. 
He had known since he was fourteen that he could 
field and throw and bat far better than his play¬ 
mates, but he had accepted the fact without con¬ 
cern. They had made him captain of his school 
team in his last year and he had led them through 
a season of almost uninterrupted victories. And 
that summer he had played twice a week with 
the 4 ‘White Sox,” a local aggregation formed by 
the young men and older boys in Sleepersville, 
holding down third base with phenomenal success 
and winning renown with his bat. But never until 
today had it occurred to him that he might per¬ 
haps earn money in such a simple way as playing 
a game he loved. It didn’t sound sensible, he 
thought. Why, he would be glad to play baseball 
for his board and lodging alone! Glad to do it 
for nothing if he could afford to! To receive 
thirty-five dollars a week, or even twenty, for 
doing it sounded absurd. But, of course, fellows 
did get paid for it, and—and—well, it was some¬ 
thing to think over! 


134 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


He thought it over a good deal during the suc¬ 
ceeding days. He had another talk with Pattern, 
waylaying him one evening on his return from the 
coal office. He had, he said, decided to follow the 
other’s advice about joining an amateur team, 
but he didn’t know how to do it, didn’t know 
where there was such a team. 

“There’s one here in Medfield,” replied Pat¬ 
tern. ‘ 4 Two, in fact. The Athletics have a pretty 
fair bunch, but I don’t believe they’d take you 
on. They’re rather a silk-stocking lot. The other 
team is the Chenango. Younger fellows mostly: 
the Y. M. C. A. bunch. By the way, you don’t 
belong to the Y. M. C. A., do you? Why don’t 
you join? It won’t cost you much of anything 
and will do you a lot of good all around. You’ll 
meet fellows, for one thing. I’ll get you an appli¬ 
cation, Sloan. It’s something you ought to do, 
my boy.” 

“I’d like to very much,” said Wayne. “But 
I’m afraid I wouldn’t have much time for playing 
ball. You see, I have to work until five every 
day.” 

“Most of the others do, too, I guess. They 
usually hold practice after that time. You’ll have 
your Saturday afternoons to yourself after the 
middle of June, and they only play on Saturdays. 
You join the Association, Sloan, and I’ll make 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 135 

you acquainted with some of the chaps there. 
You’ll find them a nice lot. And I guess you 
won’t have much trouble getting a chance to 
play.” 

Pattern—his full name was Arthur Pattern, 
as Wayne eventually learned—was as good as his 
word and four days later Wayne was a member 
of the Medfield Young Men’s Christian Associa¬ 
tion and had increased his list of acquaintances 
about two hundred per cent. The Association had 
a comfortable building in the new business dis¬ 
trict, with a well-equipped gymnasium, a small 
auditorium, reading, lounging, and game rooms, 
and a few bedrooms at the top of the building, 
one of which Arthur Pattern occupied. Pattern, 
Wayne learned, was not a native of Medfield, but 
had come there a year before from a small town 
in New Hampshire, where his folks still resided. 
Pattern preferred his room at the Y. M. C. A. 
to similar accommodation at a boarding-house. 
It was in Pattern’s little room that Wayne made 
a clean breast of his adventures for the past three 
months. His host, who had vouched for him to 
the Association without knowing any more about 
him than had been revealed to him in their few 
meetings in the freight yard, had asked no ques¬ 
tions, but Wayne thought he owed some account 
of himself to his new friend. Pattern listened 


136 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


interestedly, and when Wayne had ended shook 
his head slowly. 

“It’s none of my business, Sloan,” he said, 
“and I don’t know what you were up against 
back home, but this thing of running away is 
usually a pretty poor business. However, that’s 
done now. One thing I would do if I were you, 
though, is/ write back and tell your stepfather 
where you are and how you are. I guess you owe 
him that much. Will you do that?” 

Wayne consented doubtfully. “I wouldn’t 
want him to come after me, though, and fetch me 
home with him,” he said. 

“I dare say he could do that, but I don’t be¬ 
lieve he would. From what you’ve told me of 
him—or, maybe, from what you haven’t told me— 
I gather that he might be rather relieved to be rid 
of the expense of clothing and feeding you, Sloan. 
Anything in that ? ’ ’ 

“A heap, I reckon. I don’t mind his knowing 
where I am as long as he doesn’t make trouble.” 

“I don’t see what trouble he could make,” ob¬ 
jected Pattern. “Anyway, you’d feel better for 
writing. I’d tell him why I left, that I was well 
and getting on and that I meant to make my own 
way. ’ ’ 

“June wrote to his mother a little while after 
;we got here, so I reckon Mr. Higgins knows I’m 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 137 

still alive. June didn’t tell where we were, 
though . 9 9 

“Where did he mail his letter?” asked the 
other. “Here in Medfield?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then it seems to me he may have a suspicion,” 
laughed Pattern. 

“I never thought of that!” exclaimed Wayne, 
joining the laughter. “I reckon if he’d wanted 
me back he’d been after me before this, then. 
I’ll write tonight, before I go home.” 

“I would. What about this boy that’s with 
you? Why doesn’t he join here, too?” 

“June? Why, he—he’s coloured!” 

“So you said. What’s that got to do with it? 
Isn’t he a clean, decent hoy?” 

“Why, yes, but—I thought-” 

“We don’t draw the colour line up here, Sloan. 
We’ve got more than a dozen coloured fellows 
in the Association right now. Some of them are 
mighty well liked, too. You’d better get your 
friend to come in. It’ll he good for him and 
good for us. We’re trying to get all the new 
members we can. See if you can’t persuade 
him.” 

“Oh, he will join if I tell him to,” responded 
Wayne carelessly. “But it seems—sort of 
funny-” 


138 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


“Yes, but you’re not down in Dixie now, my 
boy. Remember that. ’’ 

For once, however, Wayne’s authority failed 
him. June firmly and respectfully declined to have 
anything to do with the Y. M. C. A. “Maybe it’s 
jus’ like you-all say, Mas’ Wayne, but I ain’ fixin’ 
to act like these yere Northern darkies, no, sir! 
I done watch ’em. They acts like they thought 
they was quality, Mas’ Wayne, dressin’ them¬ 
selves up in store clothes an’ buttin’ white folks 
right off’n the sidewalk! If they was down in 
Colquitt County someone’d hit ’em over the head 
with a axe!” 

“But this isn’t Colquitt County, June. This is 
up North, and things are different here. Up here 
a coloured man is as good as a white man—at 
least they think he is.” 

“No, sir, Mas’ Wayne, they don’ think that, 
sir. They jus’ perten’ they thinks it. Don’ no 
white man sit down to a table with a nigger, does 
they? They lets you ride in the same car with the 
white folks, but you can’ go to white folkses hotel. 
It’s mighty mixed up, Mas’ Wayne, an’ you don’ 
know where you is! ” 

“But there are a lot of coloured fellows in 
the Y. M. C. A., June. Doesn’t that show that it’s 
all right for you to join it?” 

“Shows it’s all right for them, Mas’ Wayne, 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


139 


but it don’ prove nothin’ to me! I jus’ wouldn’ 
care for it. White folks is white folks an’ nig¬ 
gers is niggers, an’ there ain’ no gettin’ aroun’ 
it, Mas’ Wayne. No, sir, don’ you ask me to join 
no ’Sociation, Mas’ Wayne.’’ 

Secretly, Wayne was a little relieved at June’s 
decision, for he held the same views on the sub¬ 
ject. He and June had been playmates when they 
were tiny, companions later, and friends always, 
but he had been brought up in the firm conviction 
that the negro was an inferior race. Whether 
he was right or wrong I don’t pretend to know. 

At all events, June remained firm. By this time 
he was flourishing exceedingly. His deposit had 
been paid and he was now getting three dollars 
every Monday from the proprietor of the hotel 
and earning an average of twice that amount in 
tips, all of which, it may be truthfully stated, he 
did his honest best to deserve. He was easily the 
most popular of the four bell boys employed at 
the hotel, and, since envy and malice are not con¬ 
fined to those with white skins, he had had his 
troubles. The head bell boy who, prior to June’s 
advent, had ruled the roost with a high hand, 
levying toll on the earnings of the other and 
younger boys, had not yielded his rule without 
a struggle. But he had run up against a Tartar 
in June, for the latter refused to either acknowl- 


140 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

edge the other’s right of dominion or give up 
any of his earnings to him. The eventual result 
was a decisive battle with fists in the furnace- 
room, a bout in which June, in spite of smaller 
size and weight, conclusively proved his superi¬ 
ority. The head bell boy retired from public life 
for the space of one whole day, and, when he re¬ 
turned, brought back with him a meek and respect¬ 
ful demeanour. June didn’t deceive himself into 
thinking that the other was any fonder of him for 
the beating he had received, but he was quite sure 
that thereafter he would be let alone. 

Meanwhile Wayne learned a little better every 
day how to make himself useful to Jim Mason 
and every day grew to find more interest in his 
work. He became a great favourite with the men 
around the freight yard, while Jim never missed 
an opportunity to do him any kindness in his 
power. Frequently Wayne was invited to the 
house with the sun-parlor for supper or Sunday 
dinner, and less frequently he accepted the invita¬ 
tion and went. He was always certain of good, 
well-cooked food which, if plain, was abundant. 
Mrs. Mason had long since learned of Wayne’s 
rescue of Terry and could never do enough for 
him. Terry, too, welcomed the visitor, evincing 
an almost embarrassing enthusiasm for his 
society. Wayne was duly introduced to the won- 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 141 

derful hen—whose name, strangely enough, 
proved to be Teddie—and to her even more 
wonderful brood of chickens, four in number. 

In consequence of new friends and new in¬ 
terests, Wayne naturally spent less time at ‘ ‘ Car- 
hurst’ ’ and saw less of June. But June, too, had 
found friends amongst his own race and was not 
lonesome. In fact, he confided to Wayne one eve¬ 
ning after supper, while the latter was anxiously 
examining the growth of his plants and watering 
them from the dish pan, that he "liked this yere 
place right smart,” adding that he "reckoned it 
wasn’t never intended they should go to New 
York.” June had blossomed forth in new clothes 
which, while extremely inexpensive, made him 
look quite fine. Wayne tried to tease him by 
saying that he was just like a Northern nigger 
now, but June didn’t mind. " ’Tain’ your clothes, 
Mas’ Wayne, that makes you ’spectable,” he said. 
"It’s the way you acts!” 

Wayne, too, had provided himself with new 
attire. It was Arthur Pattern who tactfully 
hinted at the advisability of enlarging his ward¬ 
robe, something that Wayne had had in mind for 
a fortnight and had been deterred from doing only 
by the realisation of the tremendous hole the out¬ 
lay would make in his savings. When he did 
emerge from the clothing store carrying a neat 


142 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


blue serge suit in a big pasteboard box he was as 
near penniless as one could be and have a jingle 
left in his pocket! But the expenditure paid for 
itself if only in the comfortable feeling of being 
decently dressed when Wayne went to the Y. M. 
C. A. of an afternoon, as had become his custom. 
Usually Arthur Pattern stopped for him on his 
way past the freight house and they walked up¬ 
town together. Wayne saw his circle of acquaint¬ 
ances grow from day to day, thanks to Arthur, 
and it wasn’t long before he could truthfully echo 
June’s sentiments and say that he ‘ 4 liked this 
yere place right smart.” And finally, as May was 
drawing to its end, he secured what he had hoped 
for from the first, an invitation to join the 
Chenango Base-Ball Club squad and show what 
he could do. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE CHENANGO CLUB 

The club bad already played several games by 
that time, but, as all the members were either 
attending high school or employed at work, one 
day’s line-up was seldom like another’s. Captain 
Taylor never knew until the last moment which 
of his team members would be able to play and in 
consequence he tried to have two good players 
for every position. Practice was held in a field 
on the edge of town leased by the Association. 
It wasn’t either very level or very spacious, but 
it sufficed. It had a board fence around it, con¬ 
tained a small grand stand, a shed which answered 
the purpose of dressing-room, a cinder track, one- 
eighth mile in circumference, and jumping pits. 
The practice hour was five o’clock, or as soon 
after as the fellows could reach the field, and they 
kept at it as long as daylight lasted or hunger 
would go unappeased. 

Wayne found some twenty-odd fellows in at¬ 
tendance the afternoon of his first appearance. 
All of them wore a uniform of some description 
143 


144 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


or a portion of one. All, that is, save Wayne, who 
had given no thought to the matter of attire. Still, 
he was no worse off than Hoffman, whose regalia 
consisted of a pair of football trousers and stock¬ 
ings in combination with his usual street clothes. 
Hoffman was a catcher, and when he donned mask 
and protector he made a laughable appearance. 
His first name was Augustus, but he had been 
known as Gus until he had become a clerk in the 
office of the gas company. Now he was called 
“Gas” Hoffman. He was a fairly good catcher 
and a slugging batsman, as catchers so often 
are. 

Practice with the Chenangos was work very 
largely diluted with play. As a captain, Joe 
Taylor was anything but a martinet. Wayne, 
recalling his own strict discipline when he had 
captained his school team the year before, de¬ 
cided that Taylor erred on the side of laxity. 
Perhaps, however, the Chenango captain knew his 
business, for there was a very evident disinclina¬ 
tion on the part of most of the candidates to take 
their occupation seriously. They were there for 
fun and meant to have it. Wayne had wondered 
that Arthur Pattern had not tried for the team 
until Arthur had explained that his playing on a 
semi-professional team in New Hampshire one 
summer had taken him out of the amateur class 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 145 

and that since the Chenango was a purely amateur 
club he would have no right there. 

The fellows at the field that afternoon averaged 
nineteen years of age. One or two were older, 
among them ‘ ‘ Gas’ ’ Hoffman and Captain Taylor. 
Gas was twenty-three and Taylor twenty-one. To 
even the average, young Despaigne, who played 
shortstop very cleverly, was only seventeen, and 
Collins, a fielder, was scarcely older. Wayne suf¬ 
fered for lack of baseball shoes that day and made 
up his mind to buy a pair at the first opportunity. 
There was about twenty minutes of fielding and 
hatting practice and then two teams were chosen 
and six innings were played. Wayne was put at 
third base on the second-string nine and made a 
good impression in spite of his lack of practice. 
At bat he failed ignominiously to hit safely even 
once, hut, having waited out the pitcher in one 
inning, he got to first and gave a very pretty ex¬ 
hibition of base-stealing a moment later, reaching 
the coveted bag simultaneously with the ball but 
eluding it by a dexterous hook-slide that kept him 
far out of reach of the baseman’s sweep. 

It was all over at half-past six and the fellows 
walked back toward the centre of town together, 
still very full of spirits, disappearing one by one 
down side streets until at last only Hal Collins, 
a tall youth named Wheelock, and Wayne re- 


146 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


mained. Wheelock played first base and was thin 
and angular and wore glasses over a pair of pale, 
peering eyes. He was about nineteen, Wayne 
judged, and had a slow, drawling manner of 
speech and a dry humour. Collins was a quick, 
nervous youngster, inclined to be sarcastic. 
Wayne liked Jim Wheelock best, although for a 
while he was never sure whether Jim’s remarks 
were serious or otherwise. It was Jim who 
praised Wayne’s throws to first base as they 
tramped along Whitney Street. 

“You peg the ball across like you were looking 
where you were sending it, ’ ’ drawled Jim. ‘ ‘ Play¬ 
ing first would be a cinch if they all did that, 
Sloan.” 

“Jim’s idea of playing first,” said Hal Col¬ 
lins, “is to stand on the bag and pick ’em off his 
chest. He hates to reach for anything.” 

“My arms are four inches longer than they 
were before I started playing ball with this gang,” 
responded Jim, “and I’ve got joints in my legs 
that aren’t human!” 

“Don’t any of them look human to me,” said 
Hal. “Say, where was Harry Brewster today? 
Someone said he was sick or something.” 

“Yes, he’s got the sleeping disease,” answered 
Jim gravely. “Had it ever since he got his berth 
in the State National. That’s why they call it a 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 147 

berth when yon get a job in a bank. They give 
you a column of figures to add up in the morn¬ 
ing and if you’re not asleep by half-past ten they 
fire you. About four they go around with a pole 
and jab it through the cages. If you don’t wake 
up then they put a blanket over you and lock 
you in. They say Harry’s the best little sleeper 
they’ve got. Wouldn’t wonder if they made him 
president pretty soon.” 

“Oh, quit your kidding,” laughed Hal. “What 
is the matter with him, Jim?” 

“Cold. Went to sleep on a New York draft 
yesterday.” ^ ^ „ 

“Sure it wasn’t counting coins? You can catch 
gold that way, you know.” 

‘ 4 Yes, but it’s not so hard to check. Good-night, 
fellows.” Jim tramped oft down a side street 
and Collins asked Wayne which way he went. 

“I go down the next street,” was the answer. 

“Boarding?” 

“No, I—we keep house. About two miles out.” 

“Oh! Well, see you again. Here’s my turn. 
Good-night. ’ ’ 

It was nearly dark when Wayne reached “Car- 
hurst” and June had supper ready and waiting. 
Sam was ready and waiting, too, but he forgot his 
hunger long enough to make a fuss over his 
master. Wayne narrated his experiences of the 


148 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


day while they plied busy knives and forks and 
then June brought the chronicle of his life down 
to date. But the most interesting item of informa¬ 
tion to Wayne was June’s announcement that one 
of the tomato plants had buds on it, and nothing 
would do but that Wayne had to jump up from 
“table” and rush forth in the twilight and see for 
himself. The garden was showing promise by 
that time, although nothing was more than a few 
inches high. 

Wayne was up early the next morning so as to 
do a half-hour’s gardening before he left for 
town. He had long since made the discovery that 
eradicating grass from a meadow is not a simple 
matter of removing the turf, for the grass was 
always threatening to choke his seedlings utterly, 
and it was only by watching and working that he 
was able to keep it down. When he wasn’t weed¬ 
ing he was poking up the dirt with a pointed 
stick in lieu of trowel. June called this i ‘coaxin’ 
’em,” and opined that “if they flowers don’ act 
pretty, Mas’ Wayne, ’twon’ be no fault o’ yourn!” 
But it was the tomato plants that interested June 
most, and he was forever estimating the crop to 
be picked later on from the six rather spindling 
plants that they had bought at the grocer’s. He 
declared that each one ought to yield fifteen “big, 
red, ripe, juicy tomatuses,” and that if they con- 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


149 


sumed only six a day the supply would provide 
for them only two weeks. It was June’s firm and 
oft reiterated conviction that they should have 
planted just three times as many! Tomatoes 
were a weakness with June. 

But two days later he found something besides 
the prospective tomato crop to interest his idle 
hours. At Wayne’s invitation he met the latter 
at the freight house one afternoon and accom¬ 
panied him out to the Y. M. C. A. field to watch 
the doings. But just looking on never suited 
June very well and it wasn’t a quarter of an hour 
before he was on speaking terms with everyone 
there. The fellows enjoyed hearing his soft dia¬ 
lect and did their best to draw him out, punctuat¬ 
ing his remarks with laughter. June was speedily 
established on the bench, and from just sitting 
idly there to presiding over the bats and the 
fortunes of the players was but a short step. 

“Jus’ you let me choose you a bat, Mister 
Cap’n. I goin’ put a conjur on this yere stick o’ 
wood, sir, an’ you-all’s goin’ to everlastin’ly lam 
that yere ball, yes, sir!” 

As it happened Joe Taylor did “everlastingly 
lam the ball,” sending it over left fielder’s head, 
and June’s reputation as a prophet, as well as 
his status as Keeper of the Bats, was firmly estab¬ 
lished. He was back again the next day, good- 


150 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


natured and smiling and anxious to serve, and 
was welcomed like a long-lost friend. June was 
never “fresh,” no matter how many opportuni¬ 
ties were presented, nor would he accept the foot¬ 
ing of equality that was offered him. He picked 
up the bat hurled aside by the man streaking to 
first and dropped it neatly in its place in front of 
the bench, soon knew which bat each player liked 
best and was ready with it, saw that the water 
pail was kept filled and, in brief, filled the office of 
general factotum so well that the question arose 
of how they had ever got along without him! 

It was Jim Wheelock who suggested June’s 
adoption as official club mascot. “No wonder we 
don’t win more’n half our games,” drawled Jim. 
“We’ve never had a mascot. Here’s our chance, 
fellows. That darkey was just created to be a 
mascot. You can see it written all over him. 
Here’s where our luck changes.” 

“We’ll stake him to a uniform,” suggested Joe 
Taylor, “and take him over to Ludlow Saturday. 
Guess we’ll have style if nothing else!” 

June was complacent, even proud. “Fetch 
along your uniform, Mister Cap’n,” he said. 
“Only don’ you put no stripes on it, please, sir.” 
When, however, June learned that he was required 
to take train with the fellows at two o’clock he 
was dubious. “Don’ know about that, gen’lemen. 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 151 

You see, I got a mighty ’portant position at the 
hotel an’ I dunno will my boss let me off.” 

“We’ll ask him to, June,” replied Taylor. 
“He’s a regular baseball fan himself and never 
misses a home game, I guess. He won’t kick. You 
leave it to us.” 

“Yes, sir, jus’ as you says. I surely would love 
to ’company you-all. I reckon Mas’ Wayne won’ 
have no objection.” 

“Who? Sloan? What’s he got to say about 
it, June?” demanded Hal Collins. “He doesn’t 
own you, does he?” 

“Don’ nobody own me,” replied June, “but 
Mas’ Wayne he got the say-so, yes, sir.” 

So Wayne was called into consultation and gave 
his permission, and on Saturday, when the team, 
fourteen strong as to players and half a hundred 
strong as to “rooters,” left Medfield they took 
with them one Junius Brutus Bartow Tasker 
radiantly attired in a bran-new suit of light gray 
flannel, with a pair of blue stockings and a jaunty 
cap. The shirt was a great joy to June, for on 
the left side was a big blue “C” surrounding an 
Indian’s head. Jim Wheelock told him the 
Indian was Mr. Chenango, after whom the club 
was named, and that he had been in his time a 
celebrated first baseman with the Susquehannock 
Club of the Passamaquoddy League. How much 


152 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


of that June believed I can’t say, but he certainly 
was proud of those baseball togs. 

They played the Ludlow Y. M. C. A. that after¬ 
noon and were beaten ingloriously, 14 to 4. The 
Chenangos relied on their second-best pitcher, 
and his work was nearer third-best on that occa¬ 
sion. Wayne got a chance in the eighth inning, 
pinch-hitting for Despaigne, who was never a 
strong batter, and subsequently going in at third 
when a substitute was wanted. Wayne did well 
enough in the infield but failed to hit, which was 
about the way with the others. Hitting was the 
Chenangos’ weak point that day. Pitching was 
another, however, scarcely less lamentable. As 
Jim Wheelock said on the way home, it would 
have taken eighteen fellows instead of nine to keep 
Ludlow from scoring her runs. Jordan, the sub¬ 
stitute pitcher, was hit 4 Hast, far, and frequent,” 
and the tiredest members of the visiting team 
were the outfielders. 

Several good-natured jibes were aimed at June 
on the return trip, but June didn’t mind them a 
bit. “ Ain’ no mascot as ever was, gen’lemen, can 
change the luck for a team that ain’ hittin’. I 
done my mascotin’ all right, but you gen’lemen 
didn’ give me no kind o’ support!” 

There was one thing about his companions that 
Wayne admired, and that was their good nature 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


153 


in defeat. He remembered that when his school 
team had returned from that disastrous contest 
with Athens High gloom thick enough to be cut 
with a knife had enveloped them. After all, play¬ 
ing ball was sport and not business, and why 
should they be downhearted over a defeat? 
Whether they should or not, they certainly were 
not. Even Jordan, who had so ignominiously 
failed in the box, seemed no whit upset, nor did 
the rest hold it against him. They had quite as 
merry a time of it returning home as they had had 
going to Ludlow. 

But it was apparent on Monday that Captain 
Taylor meant to do better the next time. Several 
substitutes were changed over into the first nine, 
and Wayne was amongst them. Wayne was 
bothered because he couldn’t hit the ball as he was 
capable of hitting it, but comforted himself with 
the assurance that practice would bring back his 
former skill. But it didn’t seem to. In the next 
four practice games he secured but one clean hit, 
a two-bagger, and a very doubtful “scratch.” He 
confided to June one evening that he was afraid 
he had forgotten how to hit. “That fellow Chase 
isn’t nearly as much of a pitcher as Ned Calhoun 
was, and I never had much trouble with Ned, 
did I?” 

“Mas’ Wayne,” said June, “I done been watch- 


154 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

in , you, sir, an’ I goin’ to tell you-all jus’ what 
the trouble is.” 

“I wish you would,” sighed Wayne. ‘ 6 What 
is it?” 

“You-all’s too anxious. Anxiousness jus’ 
sticks out all over you when you goes to bat. Now 
the nex’ time, Mas’ Wayne, jus’ you go up there 
an’ tell you’self you don’ care ’tall if you hits or 
if you don’ hit. Jus’ you forget how anxious you 
is an’ watch that ol’ pill an’ hit it on the nose. 
If you does that, sir, you’s goin’ to see it travel, 
yes, sir!” 

Wayne thought it over and decided that per¬ 
haps June had really found the trouble. At all 
events, the advice sounded good and he deter¬ 
mined to try to profit by it. The result wasn’t 
very encouraging the next day, but on Friday he 
had the satisfaction of getting two hard singles, 
and after that his return to form was speedy. 
Neither Chase, the Chenangos’ best twirler, nor 
Jordan, who was capable of pitching very decent 
ball when at his best, had any further terror for 
him. He lambasted them both impartially, much 
to June’s delight. “What did I done tell you, 
Mas’ Wayne?” he demanded as Wayne returned 
to the bench after turning his second hit into a 
run with the aid of Gas Hoffman’s single and a 
stolen base. “Ain’ nobody else got them two hits 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 155 

today yet, sir. Beckon yon’s done come into your 
own again, Mas’ Wayne!” 

They went up against the Athletics, the team 
that Arthur Pattern had referred to as “a silk- 
stocking lot,” the next afternoon and scored a 
victory when, with the bases full in the seventh, 
Larry Colton banged a two-bagger down the alley 
into right. The three resulting runs put the Che- 
nangos two tallies to the good and there they 
stayed in spite of the Athletics’ desperate efforts 
to score in the eighth and ninth. It was Wayne 
who cut off a run in the first of those two innings 
when he reached far above his head and brought 
down what was labelled “two bases” when it left 
the bat. A perfect peg to second caught the 
runner flat-footed and retired the side. 

That play, together with two singles and a base 
on balls in four times at bat, settled Wayne’s 
right to a position on the team. In fact, he was 
already spoken of as the best player in the infield, 
although to Wayne it seemed that no amateur 
could handle himself and the ball as Victor Des- 
paigne did at shortstop. But Despaigne, while 
he fielded almost miraculously, was a more un¬ 
certain thrower, and only Jim Wheelock’s reach 
—and, possibly, those extra joints of which he 
had told—saved him from many errors. 

The regular second baseman was a chap named 


156 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


Tad Stearns. Tad played his position steadily 
if not spectacularly, and Captain Taylor was per¬ 
fectly satisfied with him. It was Tad who almost 
invariably took Hoffman’s throws to the second 
bag and who was always a stumbling-block in the 
way of second-nine fellows seeking to win renown 
as base-stealers. When, some three weeks after 
Wayne’s connection with the team, Tad fell down 
an elevator shaft in the carpet factory where he 
was employed as shipping clerk and broke his left 
arm and otherwise incapacitated himself for either 
work or play for some two months to follow, Tay¬ 
lor was left in a quandary. Tad Stearns’ under¬ 
study, Herrick, was not good enough, and when 
the news reached the field one afternoon that Tad 
was out of the game for the rest of the summer 
there was a consultation that included everyone 
on hand. As frequently occurred, it was Jim 
Wheelock who offered the most promising solu¬ 
tion. 

“Why don’t you let Sloan go to second,” he 
asked, “and put Whiteback at third? You want 
a good man on second.” 

“That might do,” answered Joe, “if Sloan can 
play second. Ever try it, Sloan?” 

“I’ve played second a little,” Wayne answered. 
“I’ll be glad to try it again if you like.” 

“Sure,” agreed Hoffman, swinging his mask, 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


157 


* i that’s the best way out of it. Beat it down there, 
Sloan, and I’ll slip you a few throws. You and 
Yic ought to work together finely.” 

“All right,” said Captain Taylor, “we’ll try it 
that way. Billy White, you take third, will you? 
It’s just like Tad to fall down a shaft right in the 
middle of the season,” he ended grumblingly. 

“Yes,” said Jim drily, “he never did have any 
consideration for folks. Thoughtless, I call him.” 

Joe grinned. “Oh, well, I suppose he didn’t 
mean to do it,” he answered. “I must drop 
around this evening and see how he is. All right, 
fellows! Let’s get at it!” 

So that is how Wayne became a second instead 
of a third baseman. After two or three days in 
the position he decided, and all who watched him 
in action decided, that second was where he be¬ 
longed. He took throws from the plate nicely 
and developed an almost uncanny ability to out¬ 
guess the base-runner, and the way he blocked 
him off was good to see. He had to guard against 
over-throwing to first for a while, for the distance 
was strange, but it didn’t take him long to learn 
to snap instead of speeding them to Wheelock. 
The best thing of all, however, was the way in 
which he and Vic Despaigne fitted into each 
other. As Gas Hoffman had predicted, they 
worked together nicely and double plays began 


158 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


to be so frequent as to scarcely merit remark. At 
third, White got along very well, although he was 
scarcely as dependable as Wayne had been. He 
got better as the season progressed, however, and 
by the first of July the Chenango infield was about 
as good as they make them for amateur teams. 

Up to that time the club had played seven 
games, of which it had won three, lost three, and 
tied one. The Fourth of July contest was with 
the Toonalta A. A., and, since Toonalta had beaten 
Joe’s charges the year before and the year before 
that, Chenango was very anxious to score a vic¬ 
tory. The game was to be played at Medfield, a 
fact calculated to favour the home team, and Joe 
and most of the others were quite hopeful. But 
Joe didn’t allow that to keep him from putting the 
nine through some very strenuous practice during 
the week preceding the contest. 


CHAPTER XII 


MEDFIELD CELEBRATES 

Medfield began her celebration of the Fourth 
about twenty-four hours ahead of time and gradu¬ 
ally worked up to a top-notch of noise, eloquence, 
and patriotism at approximately one o ’clock 
Tuesday afternoon, at which hour the observances 
in City Park were at their height. Everyone had 
turned out, in spite of the almost unbearable heat, 
and every club or association, from the Grand 
Army Post to the Medfield Women’s Civic Asso¬ 
ciation, had marched in the procession that, 
headed by a platoon of police and a very stout 
Grand Marshal seated precariously on one of 
Callahan’s livery horses, had, in the words of the 
next day’s Morning Chronicle, “taken just forty- 
eight minutes to pass a given point.” The 
Chronicle neglected, however, to mention the fact 
that the given point to which it referred was the 
Grand Street crossing where the procession had 
been held up quite ten minutes by an inconsiderate 
freight train! Still, it was a fine parade, any way 
you looked at it. The Fire Department made a 
159 


160 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


glorious showing, the Sons of Veterans marched 
well in spite of the small boys who got under their 
feet, the High School Cadets displayed quite a 
martial appearance, and the various floats, from 
that of the Women’s Civic Association, which de¬ 
picted a somewhat wabbly, Grecian-robed America 
accepting a liberty cap from General Washington, 
down to the clattering, tinkling wagon hung with 
tin pans and dippers and plates and dustpans that 
represented the Medfield Stamping Works, all 
added to the brilliance of the occasion! 

You may be certain that neither Wayne nor 
June missed that parade. On the contrary, they 
viewed it four separate and distinct times, dodg¬ 
ing through side streets as soon as the tail end 
had passed and reaching a new point of vantage 
before the head of it appeared. June was frankly 
disappointed in that the Grand Marshal managed 
somehow to remain in the saddle until the very - 
end and then left it of his own free will and, it is 
suspected, very thankfully. June remained hope¬ 
ful to the last, but was doomed to disappointment. 
He had a wearied, sleepy appearance today, had 
June, explained by the fact that he had stayed up 
all last night with some of his cronies, doing his 
best to make the occasion memorable in the annals 
of Medfield, assisting at the lighting and nourish¬ 
ing of the bonfire on Tannery Hill, observing the 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 161 

firing of the cannon in the park at dawn, and finally 
returning to “Carhurst” at breakfast time with 
the look of one completely surfeited with pleasure. 
Wayne had been rather cross at first, but his 
anger had subsided at sight of June’s left hand. 
June, it seemed, had lighted a Roman candle and, 
unwisely obeying the instructions of an acquaint¬ 
ance, had held it by the business end. He hadn’t 
held it that way long, but long enough to burn 
the palm of his hand so badly that he had to wear 
a bandage for nearly a week. 

The two boys listened to the speeches and sing¬ 
ing at the park, ate a hurried and fragmentary 
dinner at a downtown lunch-room, and then hied 
themselves to the Y. M. C. A. field. The game 
with Toonalta was to begin at half-past two, but 
owing to the fact that Joe Taylor and Jim 
Wheelock and one or two others had spent the 
noontime swaying about on top of the Association 
float and that it took them some time to change 
from Historical Personages to baseball players, 
it was nearly three when, before an audience that 
crowded the stand and flowed over on both sides 
of the field, Pete Chase wound up and sent the 
first delivery speeding across the plate for a 
strike. 

It was a sizzling hot afternoon, with scarcely 
a breath of air blowing across the diamond. The 


162 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


glare on the gray-brown dirt of the base path 
hurt the eyes, and Wayne, clad in almost immacu¬ 
late, new baseball togs, felt the perspiration trick¬ 
ling down his back and from under the edge of his 
cap. Between him and the pitcher’s box heat 
waves danced and shimmered. His throwing hand 
was moist and he wiped it on a trouser leg. The 
Chenango infield was talking hearteningly to 
Chase and each other, Jim Wheelock’s drawl 
mingling with Vic Despaigne’s sharp staccato. 
There were two umpires that day and Wayne was 
wondering how the one on the bases stood the heat 
in his blue flannel attire, with his coat buttoned 
tightly from chin to waist. Chase wasted one 
and then put a second strike across. Medfield’s 
adherents cheered and the chatter in the field in¬ 
creased again. Then there was a crack and Chase 
put up a lazy gloved hand, turned and tossed the 
ball to Jim. One out! 

After that, for several innings, Wayne forgot 
how hot he was. East, the Toonalta left fielder, 
also fell victim to Chase’s slants, but Burns, 
second baseman, slammed a hard one at Despaigne 
and that youth made his first error. Although he 
recovered his fumble like lightning, the runner, 
a fast chap on the dirt, was safe by the time the 
ball was in Jim Wheelock’s hands. A single past 
White sent the runner to second and placed the 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


163 


rival shortstop on first, but the trouble ended a 
few minutes later when Pete Chase scored his 
third strike-out in one inning. 

Joe Taylor had rearranged his line-up for 
todays battle. Hal Collins, left fielder, led off 
and was followed by Wheelock, first baseman, 
Taylor, right fielder, Colton, centre fielder, White, 
third baseman, Hoffman, catcher, Sloan, second 
baseman, Despaigne, shortstop, and Chase, 
pitcher. 

The Toonalta pitcher, Ellis by name, was 
heralded as a wonder, and before the game started 
the team was* undeniably in awe of him. But by 
the time the first inning was at an end the awe had 
disappeared. Nor did it return, for only one 
strike-out did Ellis have to his credit when the 
contest was over, and that the game went as it 
did was due rather to the Toonalta fielding than 
to the twirler’s science. It was a hitting game 
from first to last, a game in which slip-ups in field¬ 
ing by either side would have spelled disaster at 
any moment. As for strike-outs, after the first 
inning Chase hung up but two more scalps, giving 
him, however, a creditable total of five for the 
game. 

It was Hal Collins who took the first jab at 
Ellis 9 reputation as a pitcher. Hal failed to hit 
safely, but his fly to deep centre on the second 


164 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

ball pitched might easily have gone for three bags, 
and the fielder’s catch, made on the run, brought 
a salvo of applause from friend and foe alike. 
Jim Wheelock, with the score two-and-two, sent 
a sharp single down the first base line. Joe 
Taylor tried hard to land safely but only suc¬ 
ceeded in dropping an easy one into shortstop’s 
glove and Colton brought the inning to an end by 
banging a low fly to right fielder. Jim never got 
beyond first, but as every man up had connected 
in some fashion with Ellis’ delivery the home 
team’s respect for his skill fell to zero. 

In Toonalta’s second things began to happen 
at once. The brown-stockinged first baseman hit 
between Wayne and Jim Wheelock for a base and 
only a fine stop and throw by Joe Taylor kept 
him from taking second. The next man hit to 
Wayne, and Wayne fielded to Despaigne, cutting 
off the first runner by a yard. There was, though, 
no chance for a double. With one on, Browne, 
Toonalta’s right fielder, let Chase work two 
strikes across before he found anything to his 
liking. Perhaps Chase held him too lightly. At 
all events the fourth offering was a perfectly 
straight, fast ball and the batsman leaned against 
it hard, so hard that the sphere cleared Chase’s 
head at a speed roughly estimated at a mile a 
minute, climbed up out of Wayne’s reach, and 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


165 


kept right on going. And when it finally did 
come to earth no one saw it, for it landed some¬ 
where beyond the fence at the far end of the field! 
The handful of Toonalta “rooters” stood up and 
shouted themselves hoarse and blared through 
red, white, and blue megaphones and waved any¬ 
thing they could lay their hands on, while a deep 
and all-pervading silence rested over the Medfield 
forces. Two runs came across and things looked 
rather blue for the home team, or perhaps I should 
say brown, since brown was the Toonalta colour. 

The discredited Ellis fouled out to Gas Hoff¬ 
man and the Head of the visitors’ list was thrown 
out, Despaigne to Wheelock, and the trouble was 
over for the moment. For Chenango, Billy White 
led off with a safety to left and went to second a 
minute later when first baseman let Ellis’ throw r 
go past him. Hoffman hit to Ellis, the pitcher 
spearing the ball with his gloved hand and holding 
White at second. Wayne produced the third 
safety of the game by trickling a slow one down 
the first base line, sending White to third and 
putting himself on first. Despaigne hit to second 
baseman and the latter hurled to the plate, getting 
Billy White. Wayne took second and Despaigne 
was safe at first. Chase worried Ellis for a pass 
and the bases were full. Medfield howled glee¬ 
fully as Hal Collins stepped to the plate, for a hit 


166 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

would tie up the game. But there were two down 
and Ellis tightened up, and, with two balls and 
one strike on him, Collins bit at a bad one and 
it came down into third baseman’s waiting hands 
just over the foul line. 

But that inning encouraged the Chenangos, for, 
as Joe Taylor said confidently, if they kept on 
hitting Ellis as they had been hitting him some¬ 
thing was sure to break lose sooner or later. 
June, presiding at the bats and lording it a bit in 
his fine uniform, predicted ruin and desolation 
for the enemy in the fifth inning. “Ain’ nothin’ 
goin’ to happen till then,” he declared, looking 
wise and rolling his eyes, “but when it do happen 
it’s goin’ to happen, yes, sir! You min’ my words, 
gen’lemen!” June wasn’t far wrong, either, as 
things turned out, for nothing did happen until 
the fifth and even if that inning didn’t prove quite 
as disastrous to the enemy as he had predicted, 
why, perhaps, that wasn’t his fault. 

Four men faced Chase in the third, the first get¬ 
ting a scratch hit, the second sacrificing him to 
the next bag and the other two proving easy outs. 
In the home team’s half, Jim Wheelock flied out 
to centre fielder, Joe Taylor to first baseman—it 
was a hot liner, but the chap held onto it—and 
Colton went out third to first. In the fourth, 
Toonalta started out with a walk, followed with 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


167 


a sacrifice hit, a fly to Collins in left field, another 
pass and still another one—three for the inning. 
Then Jordan was warming np over behind third 
and the infield was begging Chase to take his time 
and stop fooling, and, with bases filled, half a 
hundred seemingly insane spectators yelling like 
wild Indians, Gas Hoffman looking pretty set 
about the mouth and Pete Chase plainly slipping, 
hit a long fly to Collins and so ended as nerve- 
racking a quarter of an hour as the contest pro¬ 
vided! When that ball settled into Hal Collins ’ 
hands the shout that went up must certainly have 
been heard at the corner of Main and Whitney 
Streets, which is equivalent to saying a mile and a 
half away! Anyone who has played through that 
sort of a half-inning knows the vast and blessed 
relief that comes when the end arrives and the 
men on bases turn, grumbling, away and the team 
trots triumphantly in. They pounded each other’s 
backs and slapped Chase on the shoulder and 
shook hands with him quite as though he had 
not himself caused all the anxiety and sus¬ 
pense. June’s face was one big, white-toothed 
grin! 

“That’s their last chance!” proclaimed Cap¬ 
tain Taylor. “They’ll never get another one like 
it. Now, then, fellows, let’s go in and cop this 
game right now! ’ ’ 


168 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

But they didn’t. Billy White hit a weak one 
to Ellis and was out by a mile. Hoffman popped 
up a mean little foul to the catcher and Wayne, 
hitting safely to short left, obeyed instructions 
and tried to stretch the hit to two bases and 
was caught a foot off by a tine throw from left 
fielder. 

Again Toonalta secured a hit, her fifth, after 
one man was gone in the first half of the next 
inning. It was Gore, shortstop, who performed 
the feat, and it was Gore who gave as pretty an 
exhibition of base-stealing as one ever sees. He 
stole second when the Toonalta catcher struck out 
and blocked Hoffman’s throw and then stole third 
a moment later. Gas got the ball to Wkite as 
quick as he could, but Gore was already sliding 
his cleats against the bag. Even Medfield cheered 
that exploit, realising the next instant that, even 
with two down, everything predicted another tally 
for the enemy. But pice more Fortune favoured 
the Blues. Or perShps the credit should go to 
Pete Chase. At least, Wayne didn’t deserve much 
of it, for the ball that came at him was breast-high 
and he didn’t have to move from his tracks to 
take it. Anyhow, it ended another anxious 
moment, and the Chenangos again went to 
bat. 

This was the last of the fifth, Toonalta was still 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


169 


two runs to the home team’s none and it was 
surely time to do something in the way of scoring 
if anything was to be done. When the other 
crowd is two runs to the good, and the game is 
just half over, you begin to count innings! 
Despaigne started out poorly enough, trickling 
a bunt to third and being thrown out easily. Chase 
did no better, being retired by second baseman 
to first. The home team’s hopes dwindled again 
and its supporters, human-like, began to grumble 
and make pessimistic remarks. But Hal Collins 
was hopefully applauded, nevertheless, when he 
stepped to the plate, looking, as it seemed, a little 
more determined than usual in spite of the smile 
that curled his lips. The smile was the result of 
June’s earnest plea to “Please, sir, Mister Col¬ 
lins, r’ar up an’ bust it!” 

Pitcher Ellis, with two gone, took Collins un- 
troubledly. He tried to sneak the first one across 
for a strike, to be sure, failing narrowly, but after 
that he sent in two wide ones, and Hal would have 
had three balls to his credit had he not, for some 
reason, swung at the third delivery, missed it 
widely and made the score one-and-two. Ellis 
tried a drop then; Collins had fallen for it before; 
but it went unheeded and put him in the hole. 
There was nothing to do then but let Collins hit 
—or pass him—and Ellis wasn’t issuing many 


170 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


passes today. The next delivery was high and 
over the plate, and Collins fouled it into the stand. 
The next was lower and might have gone for a 
ball had not the batsman swung at it, met it fairly 
on the end of his bat, and sent it travelling down 
the field just over first baseman’s head and hardly 
more than a yard inside the foul line. It 
was good for two bases and Medfield cheered 
wildly. 

4 ‘Bring him in, Jim!” cried the Blue team as 
the Chenango first baseman accepted the bats that 
June proffered and strode to the plate, and 
“Here we go!” shouted a strong-voiced spectator. 
“Here we go! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!” A hundred 
others took up his chant and beat time to it with 
feet on planking or with clapping hands. Whether 
the pandemonium had its effect on Pitcher Ellis 
or not, certain it is that his first delivery was 
grooved if ever ball was grooved, and equally 
certain is it that Jim Wheelock drove it straight 
past the pitcher and out of the infield and that 
Hal Collins tore around from second, touched 
third with flying feet and slid into the plate well 
ahead of the ball! 

“There’s one of ’em!” shrieked Hoffman. 

‘ ‘ Let’s have another, Cap! Hit it out! Bust it! ” 

Joe Taylor tried his best to bring Jim in from 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 171 

second, but failed, finally flying out to centre field 
and ending the rally. 

Still one to two was better than two to nothing, 
and the home team trotted hopefully out to their 
places for the beginning of the sixth. 


CHAPTER XIII 


WAYNE BEATS OUT THE BALL 

Rider, the Browns ’ third sack artist, waited out 
two offerings and then slammed the next down the 
base line to Billy White. Billy was having a bad 
> day, and, although he knocked the ball down, he 
couldn’t heave it to Jim in time to get his man, 
and another black mark was set against Billy’s 
fair fame. This poor beginning was speedily 
remedied, though, when the Toonalta right fielder 
hit to Despaigne, and Vic, performing one of 
his circus stunts, grabbed the ball as it bounded 
past him well to the right and tossed it to Wayne 
as the latter sped to the bag. Still going, Wayne 
half turned and chucked underhand to Jim, com¬ 
pleting as pretty a double play as one would wish 
to see. Medfield voiced delight and approval and 
relief very loudly and very long while Ellis walked 
to the plate and faced Chase, grimly determined 
to get a hit. But Chase knew his opponent’s 
weakness and toyed with him until the score 
stood two strikes and one ball. Then, however, 
Ellis managed to connect with the next delivery 
172 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


173 


and send it high into the air behind first base. 
For a long moment it looked safe, but Wayne got 
under it after a hard run and squeezed it. 

For the Chenangos, Colton flied out to short¬ 
stop, Billy White hit to second and was out on a 
close decision that brought a howl of protest from 
the blue nine’s supporters and Hoffman made his 
first—and last—hit, a bounder over shortstop’s 
head. Wayne went up with the encouraging ap¬ 
plause of the*Medfield supporters in his ears and 
faced Ellis calmly. He had been twice up and 
had two hits to his credit, and he meant to keep 
his score perfect. But he was reckoning without 
Fate, for after Ellis had pitched a wide one on 
the supposition that Hoffman would steal on the 
first ball, and then had sneaked a low strike across 
—low ones constituted Wayne’s batting weakness, 
and he knew the fact and meant to profit by the 
knowledge—the hit-and-run signal came, Wayne 
swung at a high one on the inside, missed it and 
watched the ball hurtle down to shortstop and 
saw Gas put out at second. Wayne disappointedly 
tossed his bat to June and went back to the 
field. 

Toonalta started the seventh with the head of 
her batting-list up. This was Brook, her centre 
fielder, a player with some reputation for getting 
to first and for moving along afterward. So far, 


174 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


though, he had not lived up to that reputation, 
since in three times at the plate he had reached 
the initial sack but one, that being when Chase 
had passed him in the nerve-racking fourth. He 
was due now, as it proved, to sweeten his average, 
and at the expense of Billy White, for when he 
swung at Chase’s second delivery and slammed 
it straight at Billy the latter made his second 
error of the game. The ball went through him, 
and had Brook taken advantage of his chance he 
might easily have reached second. As it was, 
though, he hesitated at first and Collins, who had 
come in fast on the ball, pegged promptly to 
Wayne and Brook was forced to scuttle back to 
safety. 

East laid down a sacrifice bunt and retired, but, 
with only one man gone and the speedy Brook on 
second, Toonalta’s chance to pull the game up 
high and dry looked bright. But when Burns had 
hit to Jim WTieelock and Jim had trotted across 
the bag and then held Brook at third the visitors’ 
stock sank again. Gore ended the suspense by 
sending a high one to Hal Collins. 

Wayne was requested to “start it up” when he 
went to the plate for the last of the inning, and 
the audience loudly reminded him that this was 
the lucky seventh! But it wasn’t lucky for 
Wayne, since, in spite of his resolve to bat for a 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


175 


clean thousand, his attempt at a hit was only a 
roller to Ellis and he was out before he had gone 
half-way to first. Vic Despaigne fell victim to 
Ellis’ skill, yielding the Toonalta pitcher his first 
and only strike-out of the game, and Chase, after 
nine deliveries, four of which were fouls, found 
something to his liking and whanged it into right 
field. It was a long one and might easily have 
put him on third, but the redoubtable Browne, 
he of the home-run fame, raced back to the corner 
of the field and made a one-hand catch that moved 
even the enemy to wild acclaim. 

The eighth began with the Toonalta’s fifth bat¬ 
ter facing Chase, but by the time it had ended 
five others had toed the rubber. That inning 
rivalled the fourth for hair-raising suspense. 
Hunt, the Toonalta catcher, began the trouble by 
hitting safely between Jim Wheelock and Wayne 
for one. The subsequent batsman was an easy 
out, popping a fly to Chase. Rider outwaited the 
pitcher and finally got a pass, advancing Hunt 
to second. With two on bases and the hard-hit¬ 
ting Browne coming up, the Blues ’ chances might 
have been bought for a penny. To make things 
look more desperate, it was apparent that Pete 
Chase was weakening. Jordan was hurried out 
of his sweater and sent off to warm up and Hoff¬ 
man and Chase met midway between plate and 


176 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


mound and conversed earnestly while the Toonalta 
44 rooters’’ howled jeers and polite insults. 

44 Play ball! Quit stalling!” 44 It’s got to hap¬ 
pen! Get through with it!” 44 Good-night!” 
4 4 He’s all in! Take him out! Take him out!” 
44 Let him stay! We like him!” 44 Make ’em play 
ball, Mr. Umpire!” 

Chase was for passing Browne, but Hoffman 
wouldn’t consent. 44 Feed him high one, Pete,” 
he muttered, 4 4 and cut the corners, but, for the 
love of Mike, don’t groove any! ’ ’ 

Chase nodded none too confidently and went back 
to his place and Browne swung an eager bat above 
his shoulder. Possibly eagerness was Browne’s un¬ 
doing, for he bit at the first one, which was almost 
shoulder high and far wide of the plate, but he 
only smiled when Gas asked him if he was prac¬ 
tising and Medfield yelled its delight. The next 
offering was a ball that sent the batsman stagger¬ 
ing back from the plate and brought hisses and 
cries of 44 He’s trying to hit him!” from the 
Toonalta bench. Gas, though, knew that Chase 
wasn’t trying anything of the sort, that the expla¬ 
nation was far simpler, that, in fact, Chase was 
rapidly pitching himself out and losing control. 
But he only spoke more confidently than ever. 

44 Let him live, Pete! There aren’t any cigars 
in this game!” 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 177 

Browne scowled. “If he beans me the first 
thing yon know’ll be a bat alongside your head, 
Fresh!” 

“I should worry,” answered Gas pleasantly, 
dropping to his knee to signal. “Come on, Pete! 
Make it good, old man! Don’t waste ’em on 
him! ’’ 

Pete did wajste one, though, for the ball passed 
wide of the plate. Browne laughed. “Got you 
scared, haven’t IV ’ he jeered. 

“Scared blue,” replied Gas. “Watch your 
head this time.” 

But the next one came with a hook and looked 
good and Browne let go at it. It wasn’t labelled 
“Home Bun,” though, this time, for it went 
straight to Vic Despaigne, back of the goal path, 
and Vic took it neatly on the bound, studied the 
situation, and heaved to White. Hunt was two 
yards from the bag when the ball reached third 
base, and, although he made a clever slide, he 
should have been out. But, as before stated, this 
was not Billy’s day, and Hard Luck was still 
after him. Perhaps the throw was a trifle low, 
but Billy should have held it, nevertheless. 
But he didn’t, and while he was searching 
for it around his feet Hunt slid to safety, the 
bases were filled, and Toonalta was crazed with 

joy* 


178 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


Chase started badly with Ellis and put himself 
two in the hole at once. At third, Hunt was 
taking long leads and doing his utmost, ably as¬ 
sisted by the coacher there, to rattle the Blues 9 
pitcher, and it looked very much as though he 
was succeeding until Chase suddenly turned the 
tables on him by a quick peg to White, who had 
crept close to the bag unobserved. Caught two 
yards off, Hunt did the only possible thing and 
dug for the plate. But the ball was ahead of 
him and he doubled back again. Chase and 
Despaigne took a hand in the contest and in the 
end Hunt, making a despairing slide for the 
rubber, was ignominiously retired. Rider and 
Browne reached third and second respectively 
during the excitement, but, with two gone, the 
situation looked far brighter. 

Chase settled down to recover lost ground with 
Ellis and managed to get a strike across. But 
his next attempt failed and the score was one- 
and-three. Hoffman signalled for a straight one 
and held his big hands wide apart. “Put it over, 
Pete! Let him hit it!” he cried. And Pete 
earnestly endeavoured to oblige and failed misera¬ 
bly, and the umpire waved the Toonalta pitcher to 
first! 

Bases full again, two down and the head of the 
list coming to bat! Now if ever, it seemed, Chase 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


179 


should be derricked and the falling fortunes of 
the Chenangos entrusted to Jordan. The spec¬ 
tators demanded the change loudly, even rudely, 
but Joe Taylor, out in right field, was deaf to the 
inquiring looks sent him and made no sign. Even 
Chase showed a desire to quit; while, over behind 
third, Jordan was awaiting the summons. But 
the summons didn’t come, then or later, and Pete 
Chase, looking a bit bewildered, philosophically 
took up his task again and turned his attention to 
Brook. 

Now, Brook, in spite of his reputation, had so 
far failed to get a hit, and, as Joe explained later, 
it was on this that the latter based his calcula¬ 
tions. Brook would, he thought, be so anxious to 
deliver that he would very probably fail alto¬ 
gether. Five times out of ten it is questionable 
policy to put a new pitcher in when bases are 
full and any sort of a hit means runs. As often 
as not such a procedure proves to be jumping 
from frying pan to fire. Had Toonalta chosen to 
substitute a pinch-hitter for Brook, Joe was ready 
to switch pitchers, but failing that he decided to 
trust to Chase and, more especially, perhaps, 
Hoffman. Whether Captain Taylor’s reasoning 
was good or bad, in the abstract, on this occasion 
it was vindicated. With one strike and two balls 
on him, Brook was offered one that was just above 


180 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


his knees and square over the base, and he went 
for it. And so did Hal Collins, and caught it 
almost in the shadow of left field fence, and 
another tragedy was averted! 

In their half of the eighth, the Chenangos went 
out in one, two, three, order, Collins flying to 
centre, Wheelock fouling to third, and Taylor 
being thrown out at first. In the ninth, Toonalta 
tried very hard to add to her score, but, when the 
first batsman was retired on an easy toss from 
Chase to Jim, she lost some of her ginger. Even 
Billy White’s fourth error, which put Burns on 
first and seemed to pave the way for a tally, failed 
to arouse the visitors to much enthusiasm. Prob¬ 
ably they thought they could hold their opponents 
scoreless for another half-inning and were satis¬ 
fied to call it a day. Gore, however, woke them 
up when he hit cleanly past Despaigne and 
advanced Burns to the second station, and the 
Browns’ coaches got busy again and once more 
things looked dark for the home nine. But Hunt 
fouled out to Hoffman—and the big catcher’s 
expression as he looked at the rival backstop 
was beautiful to see if you were a Chenango sym¬ 
pathiser!—and the Blues’ first baseman, who had 
played a star game all the afternoon, ended his 
services at the bat, and incidentally the inning, 
by fanning. Chase received an ovation for that 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 181 

strike-out as he returned to the bench, and he 
deserved it. 

Toonalta jogged into the field with a fine confi¬ 
dence, or an appearance of it. She had only to 
keep the adversary from crossing the plate to 
win, and since the fifth inning the Chenangos had 
failed to show anything dangerous. Perhaps 
the home team itself was more than doubtful of 
its ability to pluck that contest from the fire, 
although certainly Joe Taylor showed no sign of 
dejection. Joe insisted loudly and cheerfully that 
now was the appointed time, although he didn’t 
use just those words. What he really said was: 
“Now come on, Chenangos! Get at ’em! 
Eat ’em up! Here’s where we start some¬ 
thing! Hit it out, Larry! Let’s get this right 
now! ’ ’ 

But Colton was a disappointment, for he only 
rolled one to the pitcher’s box when he tried to 
bunt down first base line and was out in his tracks. 
Billy White was called back once to make place 
for Brewster, but even as the pinch-hitter strode 
to the box Taylor changed his mind again and it 
was finally the unlucky Billy who stood up at the 
plate. Just how Billy managed to outguess Ellis 
was a mystery, but outguess him he did, and 
presently he was trotting down the path to first 
base while Vic Despaigne tried to stand on his 


182 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


head and every other Medfield adherent made a 
joyful noise! 

Joy, however, gave place to gloom a few minutes 
later when Hoffman, after almost securing a two- 
bagger—the ball only went foul by two inches— 
sent a hot one straight into third baseman’s glove. 
As the ball went back to the pitcher the audience 
started its exodus, for with two down and the 
runner no further than first, the end was discern¬ 
ible—or so they thought. But what followed only 
proved again the famous adage that the game isn’t 
over until the last man’s out. 

Wayne got his bat from an anxious-faced June, 
a June too downhearted to even put a “conjur” 
on it, listened to Taylor’s instructions to 4 ‘just 
meet it, Sloan, and try for the hole between first 
and second,” and took his place in the trampled 
dust of the box. Ellis was cautious and deliberate 
and was putting everything he had on the ball. 
Wayne let the first one go by and was sorry for 
it, since it cut the outer corner of the plate and 
went for a strike. Then Ellis tried him on a wide 
one, waist-high, and followed it with a second 
strike, a drop that fooled the batsman completely. 
Ellis attempted to sneak one over close in, but 
overdid it and the score was two-and-two, and 
Wayne realised that a whole lot depended on his 
judgment of the next offering. Possibly Ellis 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


183 


meant to fool Wayne with a change of pace, for 
what came next was a slow one that looked tempt¬ 
ing. Wayne yielded to the temptation. Then he 
flung his bat aside and was streaking to first 
amidst the triumphant shouts of the spectators. 
At first, Taylor waved him on, and Wayne circled 
and dug out for second. Centre and left fielder 
were on the hall together and left fielder made the 
throw in, but it arrived only when Wayne was 
stretched in the dust with one toe on the bag. On 
third, Billy White was listening to excited in¬ 
structions from Hoffman, while, from the sides of 
the field, came paeans of delight. Those specta¬ 
tors who had w r andered from their seats or points 
of vantage fought their way back again, crowd¬ 
ing and pushing and questioning. Joe Taylor 
was sending in Brewster for Despaigne, and 
Hunt, the Toonalta catcher, in spite of his con¬ 
fident reassurances to Ellis, looked disquieted. 

On second, Wayne, mechanically slapping the 
dust from his new togs, hoped hard for a hit. He 
knew nothing of Brewster’s batting prowess and 
wished with all his heart that Hal Collins or Jim 
Wheelock was up. A hit would bring him in 
from second, with White ahead of him, and win 
the game. Then he was off the base, watching the 
shortstop from the corner of his eye, listening 
for warnings from the coach at first, ready to 


184 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


speed ahead or dodge back. But, with an eager 
runner on third, Ellis was taking no chances. 
Nor was Hunt. Once the catcher bluffed a throw- 
down, but the ball only went to the pitcher, and 
neither White nor Wayne was fooled. 

Brewster looked nervous, but he didn’t act so. 
He judged the first offering correctly and let it 
go, started to swing at the next, changed his mind, 
and heard it called a strike and held back from 
the third, which dropped at the bag and almost 
got away from Hunt. The shouting of specta¬ 
tors and coaches was having its effect on Ellis at 
last. A third ball followed. The uproar in¬ 
creased. Even the base-runners added their 
voices to the pandemonium of sound. Ellis 
fumbled his cap, looked around the field, rubbed a 
perspiring hand in the dust, took the signal very 
deliberately, although it could mean but one thing 
unless Hunt had decided to pass the batsman, 
wound up slowly, and pitched. 

Perhaps it would have been the part of wisdom 
to have walked Brewster, under the circumstances, 
but Toonalta chose otherwise and so things hap¬ 
pened as they did. The ball, fast and straight, 
went to the plate like a shot from a gun, but 
Brewster was ready for it. A fine, heartening 
crack sounded over the diamond, the ball sailed 
off toward left field, Billy White sprang into his 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


185 


stride and Wayne lit out for third. Left fielder 
came in on the run, got the ball on the first long 
bounce, set himself quickly, and plugged it home. 
It was a good throw and it reached Hunt only one 
stride from the plate. But that one stride was 
sufficient to bring victory to the Blues and defeat 
to the Browns, for when Hunt fell to his knee and 
swept the ball downward Wayne was stretched on 
his back with one scuffed, dust-covered shoe fairly 
on the rubber! 

After that, confusion, cheering, a grinning, 
white-toothed June pulling Wayne to his feet, an 
influx of shouting, happy Medfieldians, amongst 
them Arthur Pattern, and hands thumping Wayne 
on the hack as he pushed his way toward 
the bench. He was breathless, dusty, and tired, 
as he added his feeble voice to the cheer for the 
defeated rival, but he was terrifically happy at the 
same time. 


CHAPTER XIV 


“a GENTLEMAN TO SEE MR. SLOAN** 

There was a Fourth of July entertainment at the 
Y. M. C. A. that evening, and Wayne and June 
stayed in town for supper and afterward walked 
around to the Association building through the 
warm summer night. June still talked about that 
ninth inning. “Mas’ Wayne, that was surely one 
fine oP innin V’ he declared for the tenth time. 
“Lawsy-y-y, but I certainly was scared, yes, sir! 
When that yere Mister Brewster grab a bat an* 
walk up to that yere plate I didn’ look for nothin’ 
but jus’ disappointment. But he delivered the 
goods, didn’ he? He certainly did! But I was 
mortal ’fraid you wasn’ goin’ get home before that 
ol’ ball!” June chuckled. ‘ 4 You surely did run 
some, Mas’ Wayne!” 

They found most of the other players present 
when they reached the building and when it was 
time to adjourn to the hall they flocked in to¬ 
gether, June accompanying them protestingly, 
and received a round of applause as they went to 
their seats. The entertainment was enjoyable 
186 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


187 


but didn’t last long, and when it was over an im¬ 
promptu reception took place in the big loung- 
ing-room and everyone flocked around and 
said nice things about the team and the 
game was played over again several times. It 
was difficult to decide who the real hero of the 
contest was, since so many had performed. Pete 
Chase came in for a good share of praise; for 
five strike-outs, three assists, and no errors was 
considered a fine record against as strong a team 
as the Toonaltas. The five passes that he had 
issued were easily pardoned since none had re¬ 
sulted in a score. In hitting, Toonalta stood 
seven for a total of ten bases and Chenango nine 
for a total of eleven. 

Brewster was lauded for his rescue hit, Jim 
Wheelock for his steady playing on base and at 
bat, Collins for a brilliant defence of left field 
and a timely two-base wallop, Hoffman for his 
heady catching, and Despaigne for his work at 
short. Even Billy White came in for a share of 
the compliments, for Billy had worked Ellis for 
a pass in the last inning and subsequently landed 
the tying run. But when all was said Wayne was 
really the star. He had fielded without an error, 
having three assists and two put-outs to his credit, 
had made three hits for a total of four bases in 
four appearances at the plate, and had tallied the 


188 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

winning run. In the batting line Jim Wheelock 
was his nearest competitor, Jim having two hits 
to his credit. In fielding Wayne had no compet¬ 
itor that day. Many kind things were said about 
him, and Arthur Pattern’s prediction that Wayne 
would make himself heard some day as a baseman 
was concurred in by all. Perhaps the Chenangos 
and their admirers were a bit too lavish with their 
praise that evening, but they felt exceptionally 
good over the victory and may be pardoned for 
indulging in what our English cousins would call 
4 4 swank. ’ ’ 

In the middle of the session of mutual admira¬ 
tion word came from the office that a gentleman 
was inquiring for Wayne, and Wayne wondered 
who it could be and decided that Jim Mason had 
at last accepted his oft-repeated invitation to the 
Association. But it wasn’t Jim who awaited him. 
The caller was a somewhat thick-set man of forty 
with a much wrinkled face from which a pair of 
shrewd, light-blue eyes peered forth from under 
heavy brows. He wore a suit of gray plaid, the 
coat a trifle tight across the big chest, a pair of 
wonderfully brilliant tan shoes, a heavy gold 
chain across his waistcoat, and a big diamond ring 
on one hand, and carried a soft straw hat adorned 
with a black-and-yellow scarf. Wayne didn’t ob¬ 
serve all these details at first, for he was much 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


189 


too busy speculating as to the man’s errand, re¬ 
flecting, as he crossed to meet him, that the letter 
to his stepfather had reached him well over a 
week ago, allowing plenty of time for him to set 
the law on his track. But the visitor didn’t quite 
look the part of Authority, for he had a genial 
smile and a ready expression of polite apology. 

“This Mr. Sloan?” he asked as Wayne reached 
him. Wayne acknowledged the fact. “My 
name’s Farrel, Chris Farrel. Maybe you’ve 
heard the name.” He held out the ringed hand 
and Wayne took it, shaking his head. “No? 
Well, I was before your time. I’m with the Har- 
risvilles, of the Tri-State League.” 

“Oh, baseball?” asked Wayne. 

“Sure! Say, isn’t there a place we can sit 
down a minute? I’ve got a proposition I’d like to 
make you, Mr. Sloan.” 

“I beg your pardon,” said Wayne. “I reckon 
we can find a corner in the game-room. There’s 
a crowd in the big room.” He led the way to a 
couch in a corner that was sufficiently removed 
from the few groups of chess and domino players. 
“You’re a ball player?” he asked as the caller 
cautiously lowered himself into place and dropped 
his hat to the floor beside him. 

“Do I look it?” inquired the other, with a 
chuckle. “Say, I weigh two hundred and eight 


190 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


right now. I’d make a hit, wouldn’t I, chasing 
around the gravel? No, I haven’t played for six 
years. I’m interested in the Badgers now. Own 
a little stock and do a bit of scouting for ’em.” 

“The Badgers?” 

“Yes, that’s what they call the Harrisville 
team. John K. Badger, the Southern Pennsyl¬ 
vania Coal Company man, is the owner: him and 
Steve Milburn and me. Him owning ninety per 
cent, and me and Steve dividing the rest.” Mr. 
Farrel chuckled again. “Ever see our team play, 
Mr. Sloan?” 

“No, sir, I haven’t been up North very long.” 

“So a fellow was telling me. Said Georgia was 
your home, I think. Well, they grow peaches 
down there. Ty Cobb, for instance. Guess you’ve 
heard of him, haven’t you?” 

“Yes, a good many times, Mr. Farrel.” 

“Yup, he’s some player, Tyrus is. Well, say, 
we’ve got a pretty good little team over our way. 
Copped the pennant two years running and 
finished third last season. Had hard luck last 
season. Weak in the box, too. This year, though, 
we ’re going nicely. Got a twelve-game lead right 
now and mean to hold it. There won’t be anyone 
else in it by the last of August. That’s a cinch.” 

“I hope so, I’m sure,” murmured Wayne 
politely. 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


191 


“We can’t miss it. We’ve got the pitchers and 
the fielders and the hitters. Ever hear of Nick 
Crane?” Wayne shook his head. “Thought 
maybe you had. Well, Nick’s with us this year. 
Got him sewed up for three seasons. And, say, 
that kid can certainly pitch! You ought to have 
seen him in the game with Damascus last Thurs¬ 
day. Not a hit off him until the eighth, and not 
a man got beyond second. Then we’ve got 
Herring—played with Syracuse two years ago— 
Nye, Cotton, Wainwright, and young Joe Casey. 
Six mighty good lads. And we’ve got a hitting 
team, too. Give me a good bunch of pitchers and 
five men who can hit the pill and I’ll guarantee 
to finish first two years out of three. We don’t go 
in for stars much. Can’t afford them, to be 
honest. What we try to get is a nice, well-rounded 
team. Do you get me?” 

“Yes, I think so,” responded Wayne. “But 
—but I’m afraid I don’t see what this has got to 
do with me, Mr. Farrel.” 

“Well, I was coming to that. Takes me some 
time to get moving, I’m so heavy, you see. Here’s 
the story.” Mr. Farrel lifted one ponderous leg 
over the other and dropped his voice to a confi¬ 
dential and husky rumble. “I’ve got a pal lives 
here. Maybe you know him. H. M. Breen, of the 
Sterling Spool Company. No? Well, him and 


192 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


me has been pals for a long time, and his daughter 
was married last night and I came over for the 
shindig. Today him and me went out and saw 
you fellows play ball. And, say, we saw a good 
game, too. I don’t mean it was so blamed scien¬ 
tific—those Toonalta guys made a lot of fool 
moves: they ought to have sewn that game up in 
the eighth—but it was fast and interesting. Well, 
I was just passing the time, you understand, Mr. 
Sloan. Wasn’t looking for any finds or nothing. 
Just enjoying a day off. Get me? But ’long 
about the fourth inning I began to sit up and take 
notice of the fellow playing second for the Med- 
field bunch. 4 He ain’t so poor,’ says I. ‘He’s 
got a nice way of handling himself, he has, and 
he sure can biff the ball. Course, he needs train¬ 
ing, but it looks to me like he had the goods.’ 
Well, I watched him close and I saw him dip in on 
a nice double play and push the pellet around 
for three hits, one of ’em a clean two-bagger, 
an’ I says to myself, ‘Chris, why don’t you look 
the young gentleman up and have a talk with 
him?’ I says, ‘Maybe he’d think well of a chance 
to get in good company and learn how to play 
real ball.’ So I inquired around and found you 
hung out up here a good deal and here I am.” 
Mr. Farrel smiled jovially, produced a cigar from 
a pocket, viewed it and replaced it with a sigh. 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


193 


“That’s very kind of yon,” stammered Wayne. 
“Do you mean that—that you’ll give me a posi¬ 
tion on your team?” 

“Sure! That is, if you pan out like I think 
you will. That’s up to you, Mr. Sloan. You see, 
you’re young yet: can’t be more than eighteen, 
eh?” Wayne shook his head again. There was, 
he felt, no necessity of being more specific. 
“Well, I’ve seen fellows play rattling ball at 
eighteen and be no good at all when they were 
twenty. Seemed like they just outgrew it. I ain’t 
saying that’s your way. But it don’t do to 
promise too much just at first. And then again, 
Steve’s the man that has the last word. He’s 
manager, you see, and what Steve says goes. All 
I can do is send you up to him and tell him 
to give you a try-out. If he likes you he’ll treat 
you fair. If he don’t like you, why, there’s no 
harm done, is there?” 

“How long would he be finding out?” asked 
Wayne doubtfully. “You see, sir, I wouldn’t 
want to lose my job here and then get turned 
down.” 

“Two or three days. Say three, just to be on 
the safe side. You get your boss to let you off 
for that long, beat it over to Harrisville tomorrow 
night and report to Steve Thursday morning. If 
he says nothing doing you’ll be back here Satur- 


194 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


day. It’s only a two-hour run on the train. How 
does that strike you?” 

“I don’t know,” replied Wayne. “If—if the 
manager liked me well enough to keep me would 
I play second?” 

“Maybe you would or maybe he’d put you 
somewhere else. Maybe you’d have to wait 
around awhile for a position. Our infield’s 
pretty good as it is and you ain’t had the ex¬ 
perience you need, you see. But Steve will treat 
you right, take it from me.” 

“If I didn’t get on the team, though, would I 
get paid?” 

“Sure! Once you put your name to the con¬ 
tract you get paid every month regularly whether 
you play or just sit on the bench. That’s soft, 
ain’t it?” 

“I suppose it is, but I’d rather play, Mr. Farrel. 
How much—that is—what would I get?” 

“Salary? Oh, you and Steve would have to 
fix that up. He’s no piker, though. He’ll do the 
fair-and-square by you. Don’t you worry about 
that.” 

“Well, but, how much do you suppose?” 

“I don’t want to quote any figures, Mr. Sloan. 
That ain’t in my job. All I do is scout. When I 
see a likely looking chap I say just what I’m 
saying to you. ‘Go and report to Steve Milburn,’ 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


195 


I says. ‘He’ll talk salary with yon when you’ve 
shown him what you can do.’ More than that I 
ain’t got the right to say, Mr. Sloan. But we pay 
good salaries as salaries go on the minors, and, 
what’s more, we pay ’em! You don’t get promises 
and an order on the grocer. Old John K. is right 
there every month with the coin. He don’t waste 
his money, John K. don’t, but he pays his bills. 
Now what do you say, Mr. Sloan?” 

‘‘Well, I’m much obliged to you and-” 

‘ 4 Wait a minute! Tell you what I’ll do. I 
believe in you. I believe you’ll make good. Get 
me? So I’ll hand you over a ten-dollar bill right 
now. That’ll pay your expenses both ways. If 
you make good you can pay it back to me. If you 
don’t, forget it. That’s fair, ain’t it?” 

“Yes, sir, but I don’t know whether I want to 
—to do it. If I was sure of a chance to play and 

knew what I’d earn-” 

“You’re sure of a chance to play the very 
minute you show you can play. And whatever 
you get for a salary will be three or four times 
what they pay you in the freight house, at least.” 

It occurred to Wayne that Mr. Farrel had 
managed to learn quite a few particulars about 
him in the short space of four hours! Secretly 
he was overjoyed by the prospect of joining a real 
baseball team and earning money, but something 


196 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

whispered caution, and so, after a minute’s de¬ 
liberation, he said: “I’ll think it over, Mr. Farrel, 
and let you know tomorrow if you’ll tell me where 
I can find you.” 

“That’s all right,” answered the other heartily 
enough, but there was a look on his face suggesting 
that he would have been better pleased had Wayne 
closed with the offer then and there. “I’ll be at 
the Union House until noon tomorrow. You think 
it over and let me know by twelve o’clock. I was 
going down to Philadelphia tonight, but I thought 
maybe I wouldn’t be around here again for a 
while and it mightn’t do me or you any harm if 
we had a little chat. Get me? But, say, Mr. 
Sloan, you take my advice and don’t talk much 
about this business. And don’t let anyone con 
you into signing a contract. A lot of these base¬ 
ball scouts are regular thieves. That sounds like 
talking down my own business, don’t it? Well, 
there’s scouts and scouts, and some of ’em’ll sign 
you up hard and fast before you know what’s 
happened. And when you go to look over your 
contract you’re getting the core and the club’s got 
the apple. See me before you talk to anyone 
else, will you? Just give me an option on your 
services until tomorrow noon, eh?” 

“Why, yes, sir. I don’t expect anyone else 
will be after me, though.” 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


197 


“No, I guess not. I’m only playing it safe. 
You see, I’ve taken some trouble to talk with you 
about this, and missed an appointment in Phila¬ 
delphia this evening, and it’s only fair for me to 
get the first chance, ain’t it? You see that your¬ 
self, I guess. Well, I’ll be moving. Don’t forget 
to come around by twelve tomorrow. Ask for 
Chris Farrel—F, a, r, r, e, 1—in Room 28. I’ll be 
looking for you. Good-night, Mr. Sloan. Much 
obliged to you. Don’t trouble. I know the way 
out. S’long!” 

Mr. Chris Farrel, with a big, black cigar in a 
corner of his mouth at last, and searching for 
matches with an anxious hand, nodded and passed 
out, leaving Wayne a prey to excitement and 
incredulity. 


CHAPTER XV 


PATTERN GIVES ADVICE 

Wayne wanted advice, and it was to Arthur 
Pattern that he went. A quarter of an hour 
after Mr. FarrePs departure Wayne and Arthur' 
were sitting on the steps of the State National 
Bank talking it over. Now and then the sound of 
exploding fireworks sounded and occasionally the 
sparks of a distant rocket lighted the sky beyond 
the roofs or red, white, and blue stars floated high 
against the purple darkness of the night, but the 
celebration was nearly over and the main street 
was nearly deserted. 

“I remember Chris Farrel,” Arthur Pattern 
was saying. 4 4 That is, I remember reading about 
him. He used to be a crackajack catcher some 
years ago. Played for a long time with one of the 
western clubs; Cincinnati, I think. Then he was 
with Washington and left them to manage some 
team like the Baltimores. Don’t think it was 
Baltimore, though. I don’t know much about this 
Harrisville outfit, but the Tri-State League’s been 
going for a good many years. It’s a six-club 
198 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


199 


league. Harrisville and Doncaster in this state, 
Paterson and Trenton in New Jersey, and Utica 
and some other place in New York State/’ 

“Damascus, I think he said.” 

“Yes, Damascus. Some of those are good base¬ 
ball towns, and they ought to make money. Still, 
I don’t suppose they do much better than split 
even after expenses are paid. Saturdays and 
holidays are about the only times they draw big 
attendances, they charge about half what the big 
leagues charge for admission, and players’ 
salaries, travelling expenses, and so on count up 
fast. Men like this Mr. Badger own ball teams 
more for amusement than anything else, I guess. 
Some of them go in for steam yachts, some for 
trotting horses, and some for ball teams. I guess 
they net about the same on the investment, ’ ’ ended 
Arthur drily. 

“Then you think this Harrisville team isn’t 
very good?” asked Wayne. 

“Better than some, not so good as others. If 
you’re going in for professional baseball playing, 
Wayne, you’ve got to get experience, and one 
team’s about the same as another, so long as you 
get your salary. You can’t afford to choose and 
pick, I guess, because it isn’t easy for a youngster 
like you to get a try-out. If a chance comes to 
you, grab it. After all, it doesn’t make much 


200 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


difference where yon start. If you’re any good 
you won’t stay long in the bushes. The main 
question is: Do you want to be a ball player?” 

Wayne considered in silence for a long minute. 
Then: “Well, it’s like this, Arthur,” he answered 
slowly. “I wouldn’t want to play ball all my 
life. It isn’t good enough. But there isn’t much 
I can do—yet. It isn’t as though I’d been trained 
for something, like engineering or keeping books 
or—or farming. I’m not good for anything at all 
—yet. The only thing I can do half-way well is 
play baseball. So it seems to me that it’s a 
sensible thing for me to play ball and make some 
money so that I can learn to do something better. 
If I made some money in the summer I could go 
to school or college in the winter, couldn’t I?” 

“Yes, you could. What would you like to 
be?” 

“Well,” answered the other, smiling, “I used 
to think I wanted to be a locomotive engineer, but 
I reckon now I’d rather be a veterinary surgeon.” 

“What!” exclaimed Arthur. “A horse 
doctor?” 

Wayne nodded untroubledly. “Yes, that’s what 
they call them in the country,” he replied, “just 
as they call the doctor a ‘sawbones.’ Don’t you 
think curing sick animals is just as fine a profes¬ 
sion as curing sick people?” 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 201 

“Hm. Do you?” 

“ Finer. Seems to me it takes more skill. A 
person who is ill can help the doctor, you see, by 
telling him where the trouble lies, but an animal 
can’t. The doctor has got to depend on his 
knowledge altogether, hasn’t he?” 

“I suppose so. Still, up where I live we don’t 
class the vets and the physicians together, I’m 
afraid. The vets are generally rather ignorant 
old chaps, I guess. I remember hearing my father 
say once when I was a kid that old Nancy, the 
carriage horse, was dying and that he guessed it 
was time to call in the vet and let him have the 
credit for it.” 

“Did she die?” asked Wayne. 

Arthur thought a minute. Then: “By Jove, I 
don’t believe she did that time!” he laughed. 
“Perhaps old What’s-his-name was some good, 
after all!” 

“Doctor Kearny—he’s the veterinarian at home 
—says that the profession is making faster strides 
nowadays than any other,” said Wayne. “He 
says the day is past when the man who can’t make 
a living any other way can become a dentist or a 
veterinary surgeon. He says treating horses and 
cows and dogs and things is a heap harder than 
giving pills to persons. I’d rather cure a horse 
or a dog any day than a human being.” 


202 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


“It might depend on the human being, mightn’t 
it?” laughed the other. “Well, all right, old man, 
you he a vet if you want to. Perhaps it is a good 
deal finer trade than I’d thought. Anyway, what 
we’ve got to decide is whether you’re to join the 
Badgers, isn’t it?” 

“Yes. I wish he’d given me some idea what 
the salary would be. What do you think, 
Arthur ? ’ ’ 

“Well, I wouldn’t look for more than a hundred 
a month at first. You see, Wayne, you aren’t any¬ 
thing remarkable yet. You don’t mind my talking 
plain? This man Farrel is banking on you learn¬ 
ing the game and turning out well in a couple of 
years. He thinks that if they can get hold of you 
now and sign you up at a small salary it’ll pay 
them to do it on the chance that you’ll be of real 
use later. I dare say there are lots of chaps who 
play just about the same sort of game that you do 
right now. Personally, I think you’ll make good. 
You sort of—sort of—well, I don’t just know 
how to say it, but you sort of look good. There’s 
a certainty in the way you handle the ball and the 
way you handle yourself that’s promising. I 
guess it struck Farrel the same way. If he was 
sure he could come around two years from now 
and find you he wouldn’t have made a sound 
today, but he isn’t. He’s afraid that someone 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


203 


else will discover you and grab you. But don’t 
get it into your head that you’re a marvel, Wayne, 
because you aren’t. Not yet. If you do go over 
to Harrisville, old man, talk small and don’t let 
your hat hurt you.” 

“I won’t. I don’t think this has swelled my 
head any. What I’m afraid of is that this 
manager man won’t like me when he sees me.” 

“That’s possible, too. Better not hope too 
much. I dare say Barrel sends a lot of fellows 
over there who just turn around and go home 
again. But his offering to stake you to your 
fares looks as if he was pretty fairly certain in 
your case.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t take that money,” said Wayne 
earnestly. 

“You will if you go. I’ll see that you do. It’s 
a business proposition, Wayne. Farrel’s paying 
you ten dollars for an option on you. If he takes 
you he gets his option money back. You mustn’t 
think, though, that being a minor league ball 
player is all roses. It’s no picnic. You’ll have 
to practice every morning, whether you get on or 
not, you’ll have to beat it around the country for 
weeks at a time, sleeping on the train or in punk 
hotels, you’ll get bawled out when you pull a 
boner and no one will say ‘ Thank you ’ when you 
make a star play: no one but the ‘fans,’ and 


204 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

they’ll be the first to hoot yon the next day if you 
make one miscue. You’ll run up against some 
rough ones on the team who will probably make 
life a perfect misery for you at first, and you’ll 
get the short end of a lot of decisions until the 
umpires see that you are real. I don’t want you 
to think that minor league ball playing is all bread 
and treacle, Wayne.” 

“Maybe it’ll be hard,” was the response, “but 
any work is hard, isn’t it? And I’d rather do 
something hard that I like to do than something 
easy that I don’t. And I do like to play ball, 
Arthur. Besides, a hundred dollars a month is 
real money to me. If I stayed on the team three 
months I’d have three hundred dollars!” 

“Not quite, because you have to live mean¬ 
while. Remember that the club only pays your 
bills while you’re travelling, and you’re travelling 
only about half the time.” 

“It wouldn’t cost me much, though, to live in 
Harrisville, would it? I reckon I could find a 
boarding-house pretty reasonable.” 

“I guess so. It’s a pretty big town. Look 
here, Wayne, suppose I go around there with you 
tomorrow and have a talk with Farrel. Maybe 
I could get him to promise something definite. 
Want me to?” 

“I wish you would,” said Wayne gratefully. 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 205 

“That is, if I decide to try it. Pm going to think 
it over tonight.” 

“Well, you want to start thinking pretty soon,” 
laughed Arthur, yawning as he arose, “because 
it’s nearly eleven now and there isn’t much night 
left for us slaves. You call me up at the office 
in the morning and let me know. Then I’ll take 
my lunch hour at eleven-thirty and we ’ll go around 
to the hotel together. Good-night, Wayne.” 

It was close on midnight when Wayne left the 
railroad track and started across the meadow 
through the lush grass toward the dim orange 
glow from the windows and open door of the 
car. It suddenly came to him that he would be 
sorry to leave this queer retreat of theirs, for it 
had been more like a real home than any he had 
known for several years. And, with a genuine 
pang, he remembered the garden he had planted. 
He would never see the flowers blossom, never see 
the little green pellet, which had mysteriously 
appeared on one of the tomato plants a few days 
ago, grow and ripen! The thought of leaving that 
garden almost determined him then and there to 
think no more of Mr. Farrel’s offer, but to stay at 
home with June and be satisfied with his work 
and the new friends he had made. 

June was still awake when he approached, and 
hailed him across the starlit darkness. And Sam 


206 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

barked shrilly, at first with a challenge and then, 
as he scuttled to meet Wayne, with delight. The 
hoy picked him up and snuggled him in his arms, 
and the dog licked his cheek with an eager pink 
tongue. “He done catch him a terrapin today,” 
announced June as Wayne seated himself tiredly 
on the step. “An’ he jus’ act disgustin’, he was 
so proud.” 

“I reckon the terrapin was just a plain, every¬ 
day mud turtle,” laughed Wayne. “Did you 
see it!” 

“Yes, sir, he brung it home an’ put it on its 
back so’s it couldn’t get away, an’ I ’most trod 
on it. What’s the diff’ence between a terrapin, 
Mas’ Wayne, an’ a mud turkle?” 

“About seventy-five cents, June.” 

“Say there is!” June was silent a minute. 
Then: “What done ’come o’ you this evenin’! 
I was waitin’ an’ waitin’ for you.” 

“I’m sorry, June. I wanted to see Arthur 
Pattern about something and we got to talking. 
I—I’m thinking about leaving here, June. ’ ’ Then, 
sitting there in the star-sprinkled gloom, and 
fighting mosquitoes, Wayne told of Mr. Farrel 
and his proposition and of his talk with Arthur 
Pattern; and when he had finished June 
gave a joyous “Yip!” that startled Sam into 
barking. 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


207 


‘ ‘Ain’ I always toP yon, Mas’ Wayne, that you 
goin’ make you-alPs fortune up here? Ain’ I?” 
Wayne couldn’t recall having been told anything 
of the sort, but he didn’t say so. “Reckon we’s 
goin’ to be mighty ’portant folkses now!” the 
darkey went on. “How much money he goin’ 
to pay you?” 

“I don’t know yet. And I don’t know that I’ll 
go, June. Maybe Mr. Farrel isn’t really in earnest. 
I don’t see how he can be. I can’t play ball much, 
June. If I-” 

“Say you can’? Let me tell you, Mas’ Wayne, 
sir, you plays ball better’n any of those other 
gen’lemen, a heap better!” 

“But playing on a real league team is different, 
June. Suppose this manager doesn’t like me when 
I get there?” 

“He’s goin’ to like you! How far is this yere 
place, Mas’ Wayne?” 

‘ ‘ Harrisville ? About eighty miles, I think. It’s 
a pretty big place, June, and maybe I wouldn’t 
like it as well as Medfield. I—I’ve got sort of 
fond of this place. If I do go, I want you to look 
after the garden, June. If you don’t I’m going 
to tan your hide for you.” 

“What you mean look after your garden, Mas 7 
Wayne ? Ain ’ I goin ’ with you ? ’ ’ 

“Why, I don’t see how you can,” answered 


208 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

Wayne troubledly. ‘‘ Maybe after I get ahead a 
little-” 

“Now look yere, Mas’ Wayne! My mammy 
done tell me to watch out for you, ain’ she? How 
you ’spects I’m goin’ watch out for you if I ain’ 
with you? No, sir, Mas’ Wayne, if you goes, I 
goes, an’ that’s all there is to it, sir!” 

“Well, we’ll see,” evaded Wayne. “I dare say 
I’ll be back by the end of the week, anyway. If 
I’m not, and you want to come, I’ll send you some 
money and you and Sam can follow.” 

“You don’ have to send no money,” said 
Wayne. “I got me ’most fifty dollars right now. 
How much you got, sir?” 

“Not a great deal,” owned Wayne ruefully. 
“I’ve had to buy so many things that I’ve been 
spending it about as fast as I’ve got it, June.” 

“Ain’ boughten anythin’ you ain’ needed, I 
reckon.” June stepped down and disappeared 
around the side of the car and when he came back 
he held a tin can in his hand. He rattled it 
proudly. “Reckon you better take this along 
with you,” he said, offering it to Wayne. “Jus’ 
you drap it in your pocket right now, sir, so’s you 
won’ forget it.” 

“Get out! I’m not going to take your money,” 
answered the other firmly. “I don’t need it, any¬ 
way. I’ve got twelve dollars, pretty near; 





SECOND BASE SLOAN 209 

and Mr. Farrel is going to pay my fare both 
ways.” 

“I know that, Mas’ Wayne, but ’twon’ do for 
you to walk in on them ball players over to this 
yere place with no little ol’ picayune twelve dol¬ 
lars in your pocket, no, sir! You got to put on a 
heap o’ dog, Mas’ Wayne, ’cause if you don’t 
they’s goin’ to think you don’ amoun’ to nothin’ 
’tall. Please, sir, you take it.” 

“No,” said Wayne firmly. “I’m much obliged, 
June, but I don’t need it. If they give me the 
position I’ll have money of my own, you see.” 

“Then you take half of it, Mas’ Wayne,” 
pleaded June. 

But Wayne was adamant and June had to hide 
his treasure again, and after a while they went to 
bed, June to slumber and Wayne to lie awake 
until the sky began to brighten in the east. It 
was only when the stars paled that sleep came 
to him. 


CHAPTER XVI 


OFF TO HARRISVILLE 

At a quarter to six the next afternoon Wayne sat 
in a red plush seat in the Harrisville train and 
watched the outskirts of Medfield drop behind. 
He had his ticket to Harrisville and return in 
his pocket and nearly eighteen dollars folded 
away in his old leather coin purse. His luggage 
reposed beside him in a small brown paper parcel, 
for he was travelling in light marching order. 
For some reason, June had failed to show up at 
the station to say good-bye, and Wayne was a 
little bit resentful. He thought June might have 
found the time to see him off. 

It had been a busy day. Rather to his surprise, 
he had awakened with the question fully decided. 
He would go to Harrisville and talk with the 
manager of the baseball team. Whether he stayed 
or not would depend on whether he made good and 
what salary was offered him. He would not, he told 
himself firmly, accept less than a hundred dollars 
a month. The talk with Chris Farrel had been 
fairly satisfactory. Arthur Pattern had failed to 
210 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


211 


elicit any definite promise of engagement from the 
scout, but he had made Mr. Farrel agree to sup¬ 
plement the letter of introduction which Wayne 
was to deliver with another, to be posted then and 
there, presenting Wayne’s qualifications and ad¬ 
vising his employment. After that Wayne had 
accepted the ten dollars, shaken hands with Mr. 
Farrel, and returned to the freight house to apply 
to Jim Mason for a three days’ leave of absence. 

Jim had given his permission quickly enough, 
but had shown little enthusiasm for the boy’s 
project. Playing baseball for a living did not, 
to his thinking, contrast at all favourably with 
working for the railroad, and he didn’t hesitate 
to say so. In fact, he was decidedly pessimistic 
and gloomy until Wayne reminded him that there 
was a strong possibility of his not securing the 
position after he reached Harrisville. Jim 
cheered up after that and chose to look on the 
three days’ absence as a sort of brief vacation, 
and virtually despatched Wayne with his blessing 
when closing time arrived. 

“Don’t you worry about me,” he said. “I’ll 
get on all right. It ain’t but two days and a half, 
anyway. Just you have a good time and enjoy 
yourself, son. Better come around for dinner 
Sunday and tell us about your trip.” 

Wayne promised to do this in the event of his 


212 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


return, shook hands with Jim, feeling a bit guilty 
and more than half hoping that the manager of the 
Harrisville Baseball Club would send him home 
again, and hurried off to the train. Arthur Pat¬ 
tern had promised to get down to see him off if he 
could do it, but evidently Arthur had had to stay 
late this evening. The train was in the open 
country now, running between wooded hills on 
which the long, slanting rays of the setting sun 
fell gloriously. He was a little lonesome and 
wished he had taken Sam with him. After all, 
Sam wouldn’t have been much trouble, and he 
was a heap of company. And just then the door 
at the front end of the car opened and in walked 
June with a squirming, excited Sam in his arms! 

June was grinning broadly, but there was some¬ 
thing anxious and apologetic about that grin. 
After his first gasp of surprise, Wayne wanted 
to be stern and severe, but he just couldn’t be¬ 
cause it was so good to have June and Sam there! 
And, anyway, you couldn’t frown or be cross with 
a delirious dog in your lap trying to lick your 
face and whine his delight at the same time! And 
so Wayne gave it up, and only smiled a trifle 
sheepishly, and June, seeing that he was not to 
be scolded, hugged himself, and grinned harder 
than ever. 

The conductor interrupted the reunion with a 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


213 


request for tickets and a demand that the dog 
be removed to the baggage car, and so the three 
of them made their way forward and Sam was 
once more secured to the handle of a trunk with a 
piece of cord and Wayne and June perched them¬ 
selves alongside and so finished their journey. 
June, it seemed, had at no time entertained any 
notion of being left behind, but had thrown up his 
job at the hotel that morning, staying only long 
enough to break in one of his recently made 
friends, and had then gone back to the car to 
pack up. Wayne’s belongings were here in a 
pasteboard box and June’s tied up in paper. * ‘I 
done fasten up the place,” said June, “an’ nail 
boards over the windows, an’ I reckon if we-all 
wants to go back there we’s goin’ to fin’ things 
jus’ the same like we left ’em. An’ I done water 
them tomatuses an’ everythin’, too, Mas’ 
Wayne.” 

“But, June, if we don’t stay in Harrisville 
what will you do? You shouldn’t have thrown 
up your job.” 

June winked solemnly. “I done made a ’gree- 
ment with that nigger, Mas’ Wayne. If I comes 
back he’s goin’ to get out, yes, sir, an’ I gets my 
job back.” 

“Oh! But supposing he changes his mind by 
that time?” 


214 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


“Then,” answered the other solemnly, “I’se 
goin’ to change his face.” 

Just before it got too dark to see, the train 
began to run parallel with a broad river, and 
after that, at intervals, the big stream flashed into 
sight. The baggage-man was amiable and talka¬ 
tive and told them much about the country they 
were passing through and the city they were ap¬ 
proaching, giving them directions for finding a 
cheap but satisfactory hotel near the station. As 
Harrisville contained about fifty thousand popula¬ 
tion the boys naturally expected to find a big place, 
but when, having alighted from the baggage-car 
by the simple expedient of jumping to a truck 
outside the wide door, and made their way through 
the crowded station to an equally crowded street, 
the city proved to be larger and far more con¬ 
fusing than their anticipation. Fortunately, 
though, the Bemis House was in plain sight across 
the way and they had soon secured a room. The 
Bemis House drew no colour line, nor did it ob¬ 
ject to a small dog if he was sort of smuggled 
upstairs and kept quiet, and so the three com¬ 
panions were speedily housed together in a small 
and shabby but comfortable enough bedroom. 

They didn’t stay in it long, however, for the 
city lights were calling them. They had some 
supper at a little restaurant near by and then, 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


215 


with Sam pulling ahead at the end of his im¬ 
provised leash, they set forth on exploration bent. 
That was a most exciting evening, for they had 
traversed no more than a half-dozen squares 
when the lights and gaudy pictures of a moving- 
picture theatre brought them to a stop. June 
announced his intentions inside of two seconds, 
and Wayne, after discovering that a dime would 
purchase admittance, made no objections. For 
the subsequent hour and a half they were as happy 
as two boys could be, and when the 44 Good Night! 
Come Again’’ was flashed on the screen and the 
audience poured out June was all for seeing the 
show over again and had to be literally dragged 
away, Wayne assuring him that they could come 
again tomorrow evening. They saw some of 
the town then, but nothing short of a three-alarm 
fire would have snared their attention after the 
things they had witnessed on the screen, and so, 
being tired and sleepy, they went back to the little 
hotel and crawled into the beds. 

Wayne’s letter of introduction to Mr. Stephen 
Milburn bore the address of the Congress House, 
and inquiry elicited the information that the Con¬ 
gress House was far uptown and many blocks 
away from their lodgings. For fear that the club 
manager might get away before he could reach 
him, Wayne ate a hurried and sketchy breakfast 


216 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

at seven, entrusted Sam to June’s care, and hur¬ 
ried off on foot at about the time the retail sec¬ 
tion of the city through which his route lay was 
beginning to wake up. The distance was long and 
Wayne was horribly afraid that Mr. Milburn 
would have had his breakfast and be off and about 
the business of managing before he got to the 
hotel. Consequently, he was somewhat surprised 
when, on inquiring for the manager, he was told 
that Mr. Milburn never saw anyone until after 
breakfast. 

“ After breakfast!” repeated Wayne blankly. 
‘ 4 Well, what time is that, please ?” 

The clerk at the desk looked speculatingly at 
the clock and yawned behind his hand. “He 
usually comes down about nine, ,, was the reply. 
“Come back at half-past and you’ll probably find 
him. ’ ’ 

Wayne withdrew, wondering how Mr. Milburn 
ever found time to do anything after getting up at 
nine o ’clock! For a while he occupied one of the 
extremely comfortable chairs in the hotel lobby 
and perused a newspaper that someone had dis¬ 
carded there, but the street outside was by this 
time humming and bustling, the morning was still 
cool and the temptation to see more of Harris- 
ville was too strong for him. So he went out and 
joined the stream on the sidewalk and loitered 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


217 


along, looking into fascinating windows and miss¬ 
ing little that went on. At a quarter to nine he 
was some distance from the hotel and so he turned 
back. But when he had walked as many squares 
as seemed necessary to bring him to his destina¬ 
tion he failed to discover it. It dawned on him 
then that he had been walking at right angles to 
the street on which the hotel was situated, and 
he turned back and hurried along the way he had 
come. In the end he had to ask his way of a 
newsboy. Whether that young rascal purposely 
gave him the wrong direction or whether Wayne 
misunderstood him, the result was the same. He 
reached the Congress House at just twenty-five 
minutes to ten by the big round clock in the lobby 
and was met with the information that Mr. Mil- 
burn had breakfasted a little earlier than usual 
and had just gone out. The clerk, still yawning 
delicately, could not even hazard a guess as to 
the manager’s present whereabouts, and Wayne 
was turning disappointedly away from the desk 
when a bell boy came to his assistance. 

“Say, Mister, you can find Mr. Milburn at 
the ball park after half-past ten , 9 9 he said. ‘ ‘ They 
practises then every day.” 

“Oh, thanks,” answered Wayne. “Which way 
is the park from here, please?” 

“Out Tioga Avenue. Take any blue car going 


218 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

north. The conductor’ll tell you where to get 
off. But you’ll see it yourself if you watch for 
it.” 

“Is it much of a walk?” Wayne asked. 

“No, not more’n a mile and a half. Mr. Mil- 
burn walks out there every morning. Go out 
Prentiss Street till you come to the armory and 
then turn left and follow the car tracks. You’ll 
find it.” 

“I surely will!” Wayne told himself as he 
thanked the boy and went out again. “But the 
next time I’ll know better than to let him get away 
from me like that. When you start to do any¬ 
thing, I reckon it’s a good plan to keep on 
doing it.” 

As it was still only a quarter to ten, Wayne 
assured himself that he had plenty of time. But 
he also assured himself that he wasn’t going to 
loiter for that reason. If he could intercept Mr. 
Milburn before he started to work it would, he 
thought, be better. So he set forth at a good, 
steady pace, asking his direction every few 
squares so that he would not again get lost, and 
presently found the armory and took the turn to 
the left as instructed. A square farther a blue 
car buzzed past him bearing the legend “Ball 
Grounds,” and Wayne knew that he was right. 
It was, however, a minute or two past the half- 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


219 


hour, when the enclosure came into sight, and 
Wayne decided that the bell boy had underesti¬ 
mated the distance, possibly from kindly motives. 

The park occupied two squares in a part of 
the city given over to small, thickly clustered 
dwellings. On one side the railroad tracks ran 
close to the high board fence and smoke from the 
engines—accompanied by cinders, as Wayne was 
to learn later—billowed over onto the field when¬ 
ever the wind blew in the right—or, more ac¬ 
curately, wrong—direction. The place looked 
well cared for and the stands, visible above the 
fence, were of steel and concrete. The ticket 
windows and main entrances were closed and 
Wayne went nearly to the next corner before he 
found a means of ingress. And even then his way 
was barred by a man who sat beside the small 
door reading a paper until Wayne had exhibited 
his letter. 

“All right, Jack, help yourself,” replied the 
man on guard. “He’s in the house, I guess.” 

Wayne didn’t consider it worth while to waste 
his time telling the man that his name wasn’t 
Jack; which was just as well since Mike always 
called everyone Jack—except Mr. Milburn and 
one or two of the more important team members 
—and it wasn’t at all likely that he would have 
given serious consideration to the correction, 


220 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


Wayne passed through and found himself squarely 
behind first base, with a wide expanse of not 
very flourishing turf stretching away to the dis¬ 
tant fences which were everywhere adorned with 
colourful advertisements of everything from 
smoking tobacco to suspenders. Beside him on 
his right was an open door leading into a struc¬ 
ture built under one of the stands and which he 
presumed held the dressing quarters. At his 
left was another stand with a similar building 
beneath it. Over the door of the latter was the 
word “Visitors.” 

A tall, raw-boned youth of twenty-one or two 
emerged through the open door at that moment. 
He had the reddest hair Wayne had ever seen on 
a human being and was fearfully and wonderfully 
freckled. He was in uniform and held a ball in 
one hand and a glove in the other. As he almost 
ran into Wayne he could not help noticing 
him. 

“ ’Lo, Bill!” he said. “Lookin’for someone?” 

“Yes, sir, Mr. Milburn.” 

The red-haired chap jerked the hand holding 
the ball over his shoulder. “Steve? He’s inside 
bawling ’em out. That’s why I beat it. If you 
want to sell him anything or strike him for a 
pass, kid, take my advice and don’t do it. Let 
him simmer down. Can you catch?” 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


221 


Wayne nodded. “I’ve got a letter to him,” 
he said uncertainly and questioningly. 

“Keep it, Bill, till he recovers,” advised the 
other. “Come on out and catch a few for me. I 
got a bum wing this morning for fair.” 

Doubtfully, Wayne followed the big chap 
around to the front of the stand. He didn’t like 
the idea of delaying his interview, but it seemed 
possible that the red-haired man knew best. The 
latter pointed to a scarred place in the turf in 
front of which a stone slab did duty for a plate. 
“Stand there, Bill. Haven’t got a glove, have 
you? Well, I’ll just toss ’em. I got to limber 
up or Steve’ll be riding me, too, in a minute.” He 
swung an arm up and sped the ball slowly and 
easily across the trampled grass to Wayne and 
Wayne tossed it hack again. 

“Guess you’re a player, ain’t you?” asked the 
big pitcher. “Looking for a job, are you?” 

“Yes, Mr. Farrel sent me over here to see Mr. 
Milburn. ’ ’ 

“So Chris is at it again, eh?” The red-haired 
one eyed Wayne with more interest as he waited 
for the ball to come back. “ Where’d he find 
you, kid?” 

“Medfield, sir.” 

“Medfield? Have they got a club there? What 
league’s that? The Nile Valley?” 


222 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

“It’s just an amateur club,” replied Wayne. 
“It isn't in any league.” 

“Oh, that's it, eh? Well, say, Chris is catching 
'em young, ain't he? What was you doing when 
he caught you?” 

“I played second on the Chenango team 
and-” 

“On the whatV 9 

“On the Chenango team, sir.” 

“Think of that! You played second base for 
'em, eh? Bet you they was the proud bunch!” 

Wayne coloured. “Maybe you'd better find 
someone else,” he said stiffly, rolling the ball back 
and turning away. 

“Oh, come on, kid!” called the pitcher, with a 
good-natured laugh. “Have a heart! I wasn't 
saying anything, was I? Gee whiz, if you stay 
around here you'll get a lot worse ragging than 
that, believe me! And if you know what's what, 
Bill, you’ll take it smiling, 'cause if you don't 
they'll make it worse for you. Just hold a few 
more now, like a good feller. Dan'll be out in a 
minute.” 

Wayne nodded and spread his hands again. 
This time the ball came in with a thud that almost 
staggered him and the pitcher grinned. “Too 
bad, kid,” he said. “I won't do it again.” 
Wayne smiled, too. 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 223 

“You may if you’ll tell me before you do it,” he 
answered. 

“Say, I’ll bet you can hold down a sack all 
right, Bill,” replied the other. “Tell you what. 
You wait for me to give you the signal, see? 
When I see that Steve’s got his temper back I’ll 
pipe you off. But don’t you tackle him before. 
Here they come now. Thanks, kid. Keep out of 
the way awhile.” 

Wayne tossed the ball back, nodded and loitered 
aside as the players emerged from the dressing- 
room. Wayne thought them a very likely-looking 
lot as they made their way around to the bench, 
followed by a man lugging two big bat-bags. In 
age they ran from nineteen to thirty, he judged. 
One, a broad-shouldered and powerful-looking 
man, appeared even older than thirty and wore a 
heavy mustache, something that none of the others 
had. The big man looked decidedly cross, Wayne 
thought, and he wondered if he had been the 
principal object of Manager Milburn’s wrath. 
The manager himself Wayne failed to see. No 
one paid any attention to Wayne. All the players 
looked very grave and solemn, but Wayne caught 
one, a youth not much older than he, winking at 
a companion and concluded that the solemnity 
was largely assumed. It was the man with the 


224 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

mustache who took command of the situation just 
then. 

44 Now show some pep!” he barked. “Get out 
there and act alive. Some of you stuffed sausages 
will be benched mighty quick if you don’t wake 
up, and I’m giving it to you square. Ten dollars 
a month would buy the lot of you if anyone made 
the offer!” 

Wayne awoke to the fact that the mustached 
man was Mr. Steve Milburn, something he had 
not suspected, since he had thought to find the 
manager in street clothes. Wayne viewed his 
angry countenance with sinking heart. The big 
pitcher was right, he concluded. This was no 
moment to approach Mr. Milburn with the ex¬ 
pectation of getting a hearing. He made himself 
as small and inconspicuous as he might, finding a 
seat on the empty bench, and for the ensuing half- 
hour watched the Harrisville Badgers go through 
their morning practice. 


CHAPTER XVII 


TURNED DOWN ! 

The practice wasn’t much different from what 
the Chenangos were accustomed to. Harrisville 
showed more certainty and ease and speed in 
handling the ball, and there were fewer slip-ups, 
but, on the other hand, Wayne thought there was 
something rather perfunctory about the work. 
Manager Milburn was after his charges every 
minute, barking and snarling, and nothing ap¬ 
peared to please him the least bit in the world. 
Wayne began to wonder whether it would not be 
the part of wisdom to take himself off and let the 
interview wait until after dinner or even to¬ 
morrow. There came no sign from the red-haired 
pitcher—his name appeared to be Herring, ac¬ 
cording to the irate manager, and “Red,” if you 
believed the players—who was working out near 
by in company with three other twirlers and two 
catchers. Manager Milburn was behind the plate 
and the rest of the players, with the exception of 
two, were in the field. The two took turns at 
batting, laying down bunts, cracking out liners 
225 


226 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


and arching long flies at the behest of the 
manager. A short, stocky youngster named Nye 
was pitching. It was interesting enough and 
Wayne would have enjoyed it had it not been for 
that letter in his pocket toward which his hand 
strayed every minute or two. 

After a while Nye gave way to one of the bat¬ 
ters, who, it appeared, was also a pitcher, and 
retired to the bench beside Wayne. Several not 
over-clean towels draped an end of the seat and 
Nye seized one and patted the perspiration from 
his streaming face. 

“Getting hot,” he said to Wayne. The latter 
agreed. “Newspaper man!” asked the pitcher. 
Wayne shook his head. “Thought I didn’t know 
your face. What’s your line, friend?” 

“I’m after a place on the team,” replied the 
boy. “Mr. Farrel sent me.” 

“Honest? How old are you?” 

Wayne hesitated an instant. Finally, however, 
since he had a fondness for the truth, he told it. 
The pitcher raised his brows. 

“Well, if Steve asks you you’d better tack on a 
couple of years,” he advised. “You look like 
you might be eighteen, easy. Where do you 
play?” 

“Second, sir.” 

“Well, you aren’t likely to get there this season. 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 227 

Jones is as good as they make ’em. Seen him 
yet!” 

“ Jones?” 

“No, Steve Milburn.” 

“No, sir, not yet. He didn’t seem to be in 
very good humour and so I thought maybe I’d 
better wait awhile.” 

“Hop” Nye chuckled. “You got it about right, 
kid. If I was you I’d beat it and come around to¬ 
morrow. He won’t get any better today, I guess. 
Not this morning, anyway.” 

“Is he always like—like he is now?” asked 
Wayne anxiously. 

“Steve? No, this is a little extra. Some of 
the boys went off to a picnic night before last and 
yesterday we got licked to a fare-ye-well by the 
‘Billies.’ Oh, no, Steve has his fits now and 
again, but we don’t mind ’em much, and he gets 
over ’em. He’s a good sort—for a manager.” 

At that moment a stout man wearing a faded 
sweater whose alternate rings of red and white 
added to his apparent circumference and who 
walked with a rolling gait and chewed gum fast 
and furious, appeared on the scene and was 
instantly pounced on by Mr. Milburn. 

“Where have you been, Jimmy?” demanded 
the manager irately. “Had your dinner yet? Or 
are you just up from breakfast?” 


228 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

“It’s my usual time, Steve/’ was the placid 
reply. “Got through with ’em?” 

“Yes, I’m through with them.” The manager’s 
tone implied that he was vastly relieved. “Take 
them, and if you can do anything with them, do 
it for the love of mud!” 

“ All right, Boss. Over to the net, boys. Bring 
them bats, some of you. Get a hustle on now. 
Some of you look like you was falling asleep on 
your pedals. Get goin’, get goin’!” 

The players moved off with more or less alacrity 
to the further side of the field where two batting 
nets were set, and the manager, after watching 
them a moment with the utmost contempt, turned 
toward the bench and caught sight of Wayne. The 
latter wished then that he had acted on Nye’s ad¬ 
vice and left the field when he had had the chance. 
Steve Milburn strode up to him belligerently. 

“What are you doing in here?” he barked. 
“Who let you in? Don’t you know you fellows 
aren’t allowed in here without permission? Get 
out and stay out!” 

Wayne found himself on his feet. There was 
something extremely compelling in the manager’s 
voice and manner! But the next instant his 
fingers had closed around that letter and he was 
pulling it forth from his pocket. “I—I was sent 
to see you, sir-” 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 229 

“See me at the hotel then. Yon newspaper 
fellows make me sick, anyway. Who sent 
you?” 

“Mr. Farrel.” 

“Farrel? Who’s Farrel?” 

“Mr. Chris Farrel, sir. He told me—he gave 
me-” 

“Chris sent you? What have you got there?” 

“A letter.” Wayne offered it and the manager 
pulled it impatiently from his hand, tore open 
the envelope, and ran a quick and frowning gaze 
over the contents. Then he squeezed letter and 
envelope into a tight ball and tossed them under 
the bench. 

“He’s a fool! I don’t need infielders, and he 
knows it. Nothing doing, kid.” 

“But—he said you’d give me a try-out, sir,” 
exclaimed Wayne with a sinking heart. 

“He’d tell you anything. Look here, now, and 
get this. I don’t need infielders and wouldn’t sign 
one up if he was a Baker and a Collins all rolled 
into one. I told Chris to find me an outfielder 
who could hit and he goes and sends me a second 
baseman! And robs the nursery, too! The man’s 
crazy! You might as well beat it, kid. Back 
to the crib for yours.” 

“I’m old enough to play ball, sir,” answered 
Wayne, 



230 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

‘ 4 Nothing doing,” replied the man wearily. 
“I can pick them up any day like you.” 

“But he said you’d give me a try-out, Mr. 
Milburn. He—he promised me that. He wrote 
another letter to you yesterday-” 

4 ‘ He said he did. He’d tell you anything. What 
would you expect of an idiot who will ship you a 
second baseman when you want an outfielder? 
Anyway, I haven’t got any letter. And it 
wouldn’t matter if he wrote me a dozen. I’ve 
got all the second baseman I want. So don’t 
stand there and argue about it. I know what I 
want, don’t I?” 

“I reckon you do,” answered Wayne, losing his 
temper at last. “And I know I was promised 
a try-out by your—your representative”—the 
manager sniffed audibly—“and I want it!” 

“What do I care what you want?” demanded 
the man loudly. “You won’t get any try-out from 
me, and I’m telling you right. I’m not responsi¬ 
ble for Chris Farrel making a fool of himself. 
Anyway, you aren’t old enough. Come around 
next year and I’ll give you a try-out—for bat- 
boy ! ’ ’ Steve Milburn turned on his heel. 

Several retorts, none of which were either tact¬ 
ful or likely to aid his cause, sprang to Wayne’s 
lips, but he closed his teeth on them. Instead, he 
strode quickly after the manager, and the latter 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 231 

turned upon him scowlingly. 1 ‘ Listen to me, kid,’ 9 
he said threateningly. “You beat it out of here 
before I throw you out. Get that?” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Wayne unflinchingly. 
“I’m going. Can I see you at your hotel this 
evening ? 9 9 

“You can not! I’ve said everything. Want 
me to sing it for you?” 

“No, sir, only I thought that maybe you’d feel 
different when you’d-” 

“When I’d what?” 

“When you’d got your—when you weren’t 
angry, sir.” 

“Angry? Who says I’m angry? I’m not 
angry. You can’t make me angry.” Mr. Milburn 
scowled alarmingly. “Anyway, wouldn’t a bunch 
of boneheads like those over there make anyone 
angry? I’d like to see anyone keep sweet-tem¬ 
pered with that bunch of ivory-domed, flat-footed, 
slab-sided cripples on his hands. There isn’t a 
ball player in the lot! Not a single, solitary one! 
They don’t know ball from beans, and they don’t 
want to! Angry! Great Scott-” 

“Well, don’t you want to hire a ball player, 
then, sir?” asked Wayne innocently. 

“Hire a-” Mr. Milburn sputtered and 

waved impotent hands about his head. Then: 
“Get out!” he bawled. 


232 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


Wayne went. There didn’t seem anything to be 
gained by driving the manager to new heights of 
frenzy. The last he saw of Steve Milburn that 
much-tried man was legging it across the field as 
fast as his feet would carry him. Wayne smiled. 
“I’m glad I’m not one of those fellows,” he 
thought as he turned to the gate. 

Mike, who had moved his chair into the shade 
and was dozing over his newspaper, looked up 
sleepily and nodded as Wayne passed through the 
fence. Outside, the smile faded from the boy’s 
face. The humour had quite gone from the situa¬ 
tion now. He had failed and there was nothing to 
do but go back to Medfield. The thought didn’t 
please him. To be sure, he had prepared Jim 
Mason and the others for his return by a predic¬ 
tion that he wouldn’t make good, but it came to 
him now that he hadn’t believed in that prediction, 
that, deep down inside of him, he had all along 
expected to succeed. No, returning to Medfield 
didn’t appeal to him a bit. 

Presently, as he walked along in the full glare 
of a merciless noonday sun, anger ousted dejec¬ 
tion. Steve Milburn had no right to turn him 
down like that. The club’s scout had guaranteed 
him a try-out and the manager ought to give it 
to him. Wayne told himself that several times, 
and the more often he said it, the more convinced 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 233 

he became of the truth of it, until, having reached 
the armory corner and turned toward the Bemis 
House, he was in a condition of perspiration and 
indignation. Sight of the Congress House crys¬ 
tallised the indignation into resolution. He had 
a right to a fair trial and he would have it. He 
would have it if he stayed in Harrisville all 
summer! 

From that verdict to reckoning up his money and 
comparing the amount to the requirements of a 
prolonged sojourn in the city was a short step. He 
had a little over ten dollars left, or would have 
when he had paid for his room at the hotel, and ten 
dollars would not, he reflected, keep two hungry 
boys and a dog from starvation very long. Then he 
remembered June’s savings and cheered up again. 
Using June’s money was something he didn’t like 
to do, something he wouldn’t do under ordinary 
circumstances, but this was no ordinary crisis. 
Wayne felt that justice and honour were involved. 
He was standing up for his rights. June’s money 
should be used, if necessary, for the Cause! 

He wondered whether it might not be well to 
apply to the law for assistance, but he abandoned 
that idea quickly. Lawyers were, as he had 
always heard, expensive helpers. And, besides, 
what was the good of a try-out if nothing came 
of it? And if he antagonised Mr. Milburn too 


234 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


much nothing would come of it. All the manager 
needed to do was to give him the try-out and say 
that he didn’t suit. Next Wayne thought of the 
owner of the club, Mr. John J. Badger. Or was 
it John K.! He might seek Mr. Badger and put 
the situation up to him. But then, that, too, would 
increase the manager’s ire and probably accom¬ 
plish harm rather than good. No, what was to 
be done must be done tactfully, if firmly, he de¬ 
cided. He must persuade Mr. Milburn to give 
him the try-out of his own free will. Only, 
how! 

He was still confronted by that “How” when 
he reached the Bemis House and found June and 
Sam dozing in a tilted-back chair under the 
striped awning in front. Wayne dragged a chair 
alongside and, defeating Sam’s attempts to crawl 
into his arms, narrated the story of the morning’s 
encounter—and defeat. June was incredulous, 
outraged, indignant. He insisted that Wayne 
should revenge himself instantly on Mr. Milburn 
and the Harrisville Baseball Club by shaking the 
dust of the place from their feet and leaving 
manager and team to get along without his serv¬ 
ices. But Wayne said no to that. 

“We’re going to stay right here until I get 
what I came for,” he declared stoutly. “We’re 
going to find a place to live first of all. This is 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 235 

too expensive, I reckon. How much money have 
you got, June!” 

“I got forty-seven dollars an’ ninety-three 
cents,’’ replied June proudly. “I reckon that’ll 
keep us here mos’ all summer, Mas’ Wayne, if 
that fool man don’ give you that position before.” 

“All right, June. Now I’m going to write a 
letter. Then we’ll have some dinner and try to 
find a hoarding-house afterward. You stay here, 
Sam.” 

The letter, written at one of the sloping desks 
that lined a wall in the little hotel lobby, was short 
but decided. It was addressed to Jim Mason and 
announced that Wayne would not be back to his 
job but was going to remain in Harrisville. It 
didn’t go into details at all and it ended up with 
thanks to Jim for his kindness and love to Mrs. 
Mason and Terry and a promise to see him the 
first time he returned to Medfield. He considered 
writing to Arthur Pattern, too, but decided to 
wait for a day or two longer. Then, having 
burned his bridges behind him, Wayne accom¬ 
panied June to a nearby restaurant and ate a 
very satisfactory dinner. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


“badgers” vs. “billies” 

They found a boarding-place without difficulty 
less than a square from the hotel. It was not very 
prepossessing and even June was inclined to turn 
up his nose at it. However, June’s nose was not 
shaped for turning-up purposes, and Wayne re¬ 
minded him that they couldn’t expect much for 
two dollars and a half a week, and so he didn’t. 
They engaged a small and illy-lighted little apart¬ 
ment with one very grimy window that looked 
out into the rear premises of an iron foundry. 
The view, while not exactly inspiriting, was at 
least not monotonous, for the foundry provided 
movement and noise; to say nothing of smoke. 
Their landlady was frowsy and sleepy-looking 
and toddled away in evident relief the instant 
Wayne had deposited the first week’s board money 
in her hand, leaving them to debate whether the 
one small towel was intended to serve both occu¬ 
pants. The furniture consisted of two narrow 
cots pushed side by side, one chair, a decrepit 
bureau, and a metal washstand. There was a 
tattered rug on the floor and an equally tattered 
236 


* 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


237 


sash curtain at the lone window. (The rug was 
tossed into the hallway that night after Wayne 
had caught his foot in a hole and fallen against 
the bureau.) The cots looked ready to collapse 
of their own weight, but proved equal to the tasks 
set them, although they complained horribly every 
time Wayne or June turned over in them. 

But that was later. After settling their few 
belongings into place the boys, followed, you may 
be certain, by Sam, sallied forth again. It was 
mid-afternoon by that time and Wayne led the 
way hurriedly along the street in the direction of 
the distant ball park. To part with fifty cents of 
their combined fortunes seemed, on the face of 
it, pure recklessness, but Wayne soothed his 
conscience by telling himself that a fellow ought 
to know something about the ball team he was 
going to join. June’s conscience troubled him 
not a whit. June was as pleased as Punch at the 
idea of seeing a ball game. Sam—well, we don’t 
know what Sam thought about it. He seemed, 
however, perfectly willing to accompany the ex¬ 
pedition. 

The game was well into the first half of the 
third inning when the two boys settled themselves 
in their places on the bleachers. There had been 
a trifle of difficulty in persuading the man at the 
gate to allow the passage of the dog, a difficulty 


238 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


which Sam had solved by taking the matter under 
his own control and trotting past. The ticket taker 
had threatened to have the dog removed, but his 
threat had seemed to lack conviction and the boys 
were not troubled. Wayne was surprised to note 
the smallness of the attendance. The reserved 
sections were merely sprinkled with spectators 
and more than half of the bleacher seats were 
empty. Possibly six hundred persons were on 
hand, but surely no more. 

The Doncaster Club, familiarly known as the 
“Billies,” were the opponents this afternoon, 
playing the third contest of a four-game series. 
The score-board showed Doncaster leading by 
two runs obtained in the first inning. Wayne 
squandered another five cents and bought a score- 
card which informed him of the batting order. A 
neighbour ended his doubt as to which of the three 
pitchers on the card was really performing by 
telling him over his shoulder that “ Wainwright’s 
in the box and Linton’s catching. They worked 
him for a pass and a three-bagger in the first. 
Henderson and Coe’s the Billies’ battery.” 
Wayne thanked him and turned his attention 
back to the game in time to see the third Don¬ 
caster man thrown out at first. 

After that the game dragged for several 
innings, with neither team getting past second. 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


239 


Wayne recognised several of the players he had 
watched in the morning, notably O’Neill, the 
lanky, tow-headed left fielder, and a small, lithe 
youngster named Bennett who played third base 
as if he had a bunch of steel springs inside him. 
In spite of the distance to the bench, Wayne easily 
made out Steve Milburn and “Red” Herring and 
thought the smaller man next to “Red” was Nye. 
The crowd in the bleachers kept up an incessant, 
good-natured flow of comment and advice. O’Neill 
—Wayne learned before the game was over that 
his popular nickname was “Sailor”—was a great 
favourite with the bleacherites and frequently 
turned to wave a hand or shout a pat reply to 
some remark aimed at him. The bleacherites had 
other favourites as well: young Bennett and Nick 
Crane, the first-choice pitcher, and a swarthy, 
broad-shouldered, long-limbed first baseman 
named Morgan. And Wayne gathered in the 
course of the contest that Steve Milburn was 
held in the utmost respect as a manager and was 
personally popular to a degree. 

Wayne thought that the manager’s “bawling- 
out” that forenoon had done good, for the Harris- 
ville team was certainly on its toes all the time 
and played with a snap. Only the total inability 
to hit the Billies’ pitcher safely kept the home 
club from scoring. Henderson was slammed here, 


240 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


there, ai^i everywhere, but there was always a 
man right on the spot to spoil the hit. However, 
the Badgers did manage to get a run across in the 
fifth when Cross, who played shortstop and cap¬ 
tained the team, beat out a roller to first, was 
sacrificed to second, and won home on a long fly to 
right fielder. But Doncaster came back in the next 
inning and found Wainwright for two hits and 
a sacrifice and took back her lead of two tallies. 

June was having a fine time with a bag of 
peanuts, which he shared with Sam, and was al¬ 
ready a violent partisan of the Harrisville 
Badgers. His comments, voiced for Wayne ’s ear 
alone but audible to the nearby spectators, 
aroused much mirth. Wayne didn’t hear them 
all, for he was busy watching the players and 
their methods. He saw several tricks that were 
new to his experience. For instance, a Doncaster 
coach at third insisted that a runner who had 
reached that base should keep outside the foul 
line, something that the runner repeatedly neg¬ 
lected to do. That puzzled Wayne for the better 
part of two innings and wasn’t solved until a 
batter hit sharply to young Bennett, whereupon 
Wayne realised that had a runner been on fair 
ground he would probably have been hit by the 
ball and so been put out. By keeping on foul 
territory he was safe. He stored the fact away 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


241 


in his memory for future use. Most of all he 
watched the playing of Jones, the second base¬ 
man. Jones was short and a bit heavy-looking, 
but he seemed fast enough in action and certainly 
played a good, steady game. At hat he was not 
dangerous that afternoon, but, for that matter, 
none of the Badgers was. Wayne asked the man 
behind him, who had volunteered the informa¬ 
tion about the batteries, what sort of a hitter 
Jones was and the man pursed his lips and 
shrugged his shoulders. 

‘ 4 Clover Jones ? We-ell, he ain’t so had as some. 
He bats better’n Tim Leary. I’ve seen Clover 
everlastingly wallop the ball an’ then again IVe 
seen him go a week without making a hit. You 
can’t tell about Clover. He’s a good baseman, 
though. Ain’t anybody hitting today. That 
feller Henderson’s got a lot on the ball, I guess.” 

But even Henderson, who ranked high in the 
Tri-State League, couldn’t keep it up to the end, 
and when the eighth inning came Sailor O’Neill 
brought yelps of joy from the stands by leading 
off with the Badgers’ fourth safe hit of the game, 
a sharp liner that whizzed over shortstop’s head 
and let O’Neill reach second base by a hair’s 
breadth. Then Leary struck out. Linton, the 
catcher, laid down a bunt in front of the plate and 
the Billies’ backstop chose to head off O’Neill at 


242 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

third. But his hurried throw went wide, O’Neill 
scored and Linton slid into second. With but one 
down there was a fine chance of evening up the 
score or winning, and Wayne wasn’t surprised 
when the delay at the plate resulted in the arrival 
there of a pinch-hitter in the person of Fawcett, a 
substitute outfielder. Fawcett’s appearance was 
greeted joyfully by the bleachers and he received 
a deal of advice. Fawcett, however, failed to 
deliver the needed hit, for, after swinging at two 
good ones and missing them, he stood idle, while 
a third sailed across the plate. Bennett was the 
remaining hope, and Bennett came across nicely. 
He allowed Henderson to put him in the hole to 
the tune of two-and-one, refused a wide one and 
a drop, and then connected with the next offering 
and banged it hard at the hole between second 
and shortstop. The pitcher nearly reached it but 
failed, and the ball sailed serenely over the second 
bag and Linton scuttled home with the tying run. 

The inning ended when Briggs, centre fielder, 
died out to first baseman, and with the score three 
to three the game went through the ninth and 
started the tenth. By this time ennui was no 
longer discernible in stands or bleachers. 
Leather-lunged “fans” were appealing wildly to 
the Fates for a victory. Cotton was the relief 
pitcher for the Badgers, and, although he was as 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


243 


wild as a hawk in the ninth, he got by with the aid 
of sharp fielding and settled down in the tenth 
very nicely. With two of the Billies gone, though, 
an error by Captain Cross gave a life to the Don¬ 
caster left fielder and a pass to the succeeding 
batsman put him on second. Then the first base- 
man succeeded where better batters had failed and 
lined one past third, allowing the left fielder to 
score and putting the next man on second. A 
fly to the outfield brought the end. 

But Doncaster again held the lead and it was 
up to Harrisville to get a run across. The 
bleacherites did all they could to help, and June’s 
was a conspicuous voice amongst them. Even 
Sam seemed to sense a desperate crisis, for he 
roused himself from the lethargy produced by 
a feast of peanuts and barked wildly. Cross went 
out, third to first. 44 Cob” Morgan, the dark- 
visaged first baseman, reached the initial station 
safely by reason of a fumble on the part of short¬ 
stop. Jones started to the plate but was recalled 
and LaCroix took his place. LaCroix was a thick¬ 
set, hook-nosed Canuck. Opinion in Wayne’s 
vicinity differed as to the advisability of putting 
“Nap” in, but it was generally conceded that 
Steve Milburn generally pulled the trick and that 
events might vindicate his judgment in this case. 
And events surely did. 


244 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

Nap LaCroix leaned against the first offering 
and hit to short right and there were two on. The 
Harrisville “rooters” cheered and yelped and, 
considering their scarcity, made a brave uproar. 
Possibly it had its effect on Henderson, for he 
wabbled for the first time in the proceedings and 
walked O’Neill. The bleacherites arose to their 
feet and waved hats and coats and newspapers 
madly. Wayne did his share, June yipped, and 
Sam, squirming in Wayne’s arms, barked 
frantically. Another pinch-hitter was sent in, 
this time in place of Leary. 

“0 you Joe Casey!” bellowed the audience. 
“Hit it out, Joe!” “Remember yesterday, Joe!” 

The young pitcher, who Wayne gathered had 
been ingloriously hammered the preceding after¬ 
noon, didn’t look like a likely candidate to pull 
the game out of the fire, for he presented a very 
awkward appearance at the plate. But he didn’t 
have much chance to show his prowess for Hender¬ 
son pitched two balls before he got a strike over 
and then followed with two more, forcing in the 
tying run and exiling himself to the showers. 
The' audience shouted joy and relief and settled 
down to their seats again. But they still sat on 
the edges, for the game was still to win. Linton 
tried hard to deliver but only hit across the in¬ 
field to shortstop and LaCroix was an easy out at 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


245 


the plate. The new pitcher for Doncaster was 
slow and heady and he was cutting the corners 
very nicely, it seemed, for he wafted two strikes 
over on Cotton before the Badgers’ box artist 
knew what was happening, and Harrisville saw her 
hopes descending. Still, in the end Cotton almost 
came through. With the score two-and-two, he 
met a straight one and lifted it gloriously against 
the sky for what looked like a circuit hit. Harris¬ 
ville arose as one man and shouted hoarsely and 
triumphantly, for that ball looked exactly as 
though it meant to ride right on over the left 
field fence. The fielder hiked back on twinkling 
feet, looked over his shoulder, raced on again, 
turned, stepped hack until his shadow loomed 
large against the hoards behind him, and put up 
his hands. And that deceitful hall just came 
right down into them as though pulled there by 
an invisible string! 

Gloom and disgust possessed the stands! 

The sun was gone behind the hills in the west 
when the eleventh session opened and the heat of 
the afternoon was giving place to the coolness of 
evening. Coats which had laid across knees for 
ten long innings were donned again. Here and 
there a spectator arose, unwillingly, and, with 
long backward looks, took himself homeward. 
Cotton was pitching fine ball now and Doncaster 


246 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

had never a look-in during her half of the eleventh. 
But neither had Harrisville in her portion. If 
Cotton was going well, so was the rival twirler, 
and the nearest thing to a hit that either team 
evolved was a palpable scratch that placed Cross 
on first, from which sack he failed to move. In 
the twelfth the Billies caused consternation by 
working Cotton for a pass and advancing a man 
to third on a sacrifice and an error by LaCroix, 
playing second. But two strike-outs followed and 
averted calamity. 

Manager Milburn’s line-up was a rather 
patched affair by now, for he had staked all on 
that tenth inning crisis. Fawcett started off by 
flying out to left. O’Neill hit for one. LaCroix 
fouled out to catcher. O’Neill stole on the second 
pitch to Linton and was safe. Linton fouled 
twice behind third base, each time barely escaping 
being caught out, and then, with two strikes and 
two balls against him, waited and walked to base. 
With two on and Cotton at bat anything might 
happen—or nothing. For a while it looked like 
nothing, for Cotton, in spite of his eagerness to 
hit and the wild and weird manner in which he 
swung his bat around his head, for all the world 
like a joyous lad twirling a shillalah at Donny- 
brook Fair and daring an adversary to step up 
and have his head broken, the Billies’ pitcher 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


247 


managed to sneak them across in unexpected 
places until the score was two-and-two. Cotton 
was losing his temper now, and Wayne could hear 
Steve Milburn barking at him from the bench. 
A third ball went past. The bleachers stormed 
and railed at the Doncaster pitcher, Cotton 
squeezed his bat harder than ever and did a little 
dance in the box. The Billies’ twirler wound up, 
shot his arm forward and the ball sped to the 
plate. Perhaps Cotton mistook the ball for the 
pitcher’s head. At all events, he tried hard to 
break his bat on it and came near to doing it. 
Off whizzed the ball and off sped Cotton. But 
the long fly, while it started fair, soon broke to the 
left, and Cotton, pounding the turf between first 
and second with head down and legs twinkling, 
was stopped in his mad career and headed back to 
the plate. The audience groaned its disappoint¬ 
ment and sat down again. Then an unlooked-for 
event occurred. Wayne was apprised of it first 
when a wild burst of delight broke from his 
neighbours in the bleachers. At the plate Cotton 
was walking sadly toward the bench, the umpire, 
mask off, was shouting something that Wayne 
couldn’t hear for the noise about him and a new 
figure strode to the batter’s box. 

“Who is it?” asked Wayne to the bleachers at 
large. 


248 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


4i Steve himself!” was the answer. “Bust it, 
Steve! Knock the hide off it! Wow!” 

And sure enough it was Manager Milburn who 
faced the Doncaster pitcher now and who tapped 
a long black bat gently on the rubber, leaned it 
against his leg, moistened his hands and rubbed 
them together, took up the bat again and eyed 
the moundsman warily. In the outfield the players 
were stepping back and still back. The Harris- 
ville rooters shouted and screeched, red of face, 
entreating of voice. 

One ball, far wide of the plate, that Steve Mil- 
burn only looked at as it sped by. A strike that 
caused him to turn and observe the umpire silently 
and derisively. Another ball, high and on the 
inside, that sent Steve’s head and shoulders jerk¬ 
ing back from its path. The pandemonium in¬ 
creased. Another offering that would have cut 
the outer corner of the plate knee-high had not 
Manager Milburn’s bat been ready for it. A 
fine, heartening crack of wood and leather, a gray 
streak cutting the shadows of the first base stands, 
cries, pounding feet, dust, confusion and—vic¬ 
tory! The ball passed second baseman a yard 
from his outstretched fingers and went to right 
fielder on its first long bound. But right fielder 
never threw it. Instead, he merely trotted bench- 
ward. For O’Neill was throwing himself across 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


249 


the plate by that time and Milburn was on first 
and the game was over! And Harrisville had 
avenged yesterday’s defeat to the tune of four to 
three! 

The stands emptied, the players thronged to 
the dressing-rooms and Wayne and June jour¬ 
neyed across the trampled field of battle on their 
way to the gate as happy as though they them¬ 
selves had won that victory. And Sam trotted 
behind with his pathetic stub of a tail wagging 
proudly. 


CHAPTER XIX 


WAYNE LENDS A HAND 

That evening Wayne went to the Congress House 
and inquired for Mr. Milburn. The clerk at the 
desk pushed a card toward him and he wrote 
his name on it. Five minutes later a bell boy 
returned with the message that the manager de¬ 
clined to see him. As Wayne had expected just 
that, he was not disappointed. Finding a vacant 
chair against a wall of the lobby, he went on watch. 
But, although he saw several of the Harrisville 
players come and go during the succeeding hour, 
the manager did not appear, and at half-past nine 
Wayne returned to the new lodgings. June, with 
Sam curled into a tight bunch on his chest, was 
stretched on his bed reading an evening paper. 
June was not a fast reader but he was most 
thorough, and one newspaper generally lasted him 
for several days. Wayne made him lay his paper 
aside for the present and produce what money he 
had. To it Wayne added his own wealth and they 
then counted it over. They had to count it thrice 
for the result was different the first two times. 
Fifty-five dollars and forty-one cents was what 
250 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


251 


they finally made it. Then Wayne figured on the 
margin of June’s paper and, after much frown¬ 
ing and muttering, decided that by rigid economy 
they could live just about five weeks on their 
capital. 

“Fifteen cents apiece is enough for breakfast 
and supper,” said Wayne, “and we can get a 
good dinner for thirty cents. That comes to one 
dollar and twenty cents a day, or eight-forty a 
week. Then two and a half for the room makes 
it ten-ninety, and ten-ninety goes into fifty-five 
forty five times and leaves ninety cents over.” 

“That’s so,” assented June, “but we’d better 
leave us enough to get home on, Mas’ Wayne.” 

“We’re home now,” replied Wayne firmly. 

“Is we?” 

“We are! We’re going to stay right here, 
June. If I don’t get on the baseball team I’ll 
find a job somewhere. And you can do the 
same.” 

“Yes, sir, but what’s to hinder me from gettin’ 
me a job right now?” asked June. 

Wayne considered. Finally he shook his head. 
“No,” he answered, “I don’t want you working 
if I’m not. We’ve got enough to last us five 
weeks; four, anyway; and when we get toward the 
end of the money we can begin to look for some¬ 
thing to do. If Mr. Milburn gives me a try-out 


252 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

and I make good, why, you won’t have to work.” 

“Say I won’? How come, Mas’ Wayne?” 

“You’ll keep house for me, June, and look after 
Sam. And you can go to school again. We’ll 
find a couple of rooms where we can get our own 
meals. How would you like that?” 

“With a real cook stove, Mas’ Wayne?” 

“Yes, a real, sure-enough one, June. And we’ll 
buy a whole outfit of pans and dishes and every¬ 
thing. And there’ll be a pantry with all sorts of 
things in it: canned soup and flour and sugar 
and-” 

“Molasses?” asked June eagerly. 

“Of course. Everything we want.” 

“Lawsy-y-y!” crooned June, hugging himself 
tightly and rolling his eyes. “Jus’ like quality, 
Mas’ Wayne! Say, I goin’ to cook a big mess of 
pork an’ cabbage the very firs’ thing! I ain’ had 
none of that for a mighty long ol’ time, I’m tellin’ 
you. ’ ’ 

“That’s ‘if’,” reminded Wayne. “Mayhe it 
won’t happen, though.” 

“Mas’ Wayne,” said June earnestly, “it’s jus’ 
got to happen, yes, sir! If that yere Mister 
Manager don’ give you that yere job I goin’ 
pesker the life out’n him! ’Deed I is, yes, sir! 
I’m goin’ make him pow’ful mis’able.” 

“I’m going to do a little ‘peskering’ myself,” 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 253 

responded Wayne grimly. “And I'm going to 
begin tomorrow morning. Now, though, I'm going 
to sleep." 

In the morning they found a little restaurant 
within a block of their new lodgings and had 
breakfast there. It wasn't a very attractive 
place, and the tablecloths were likely to be soiled, 
but the food was satisfactory and the prices well 
within the limit Wayne had decided on. Also, the 
proprietor, a little man with a pronounced squint 
who talked in broken English, took a liking to Sam 
and neither of the boys had to stint his appetite 
to provide for the dog. After that first morning 
Sam trotted at once to the door at the back and 
stood there with an inquiring gaze and slowly 
wagging tail until the expected chop bone or other 
delicacy came his way. 

After breakfast June and Sam were left to their 
own devices and Wayne set forth for the ball park. 
Summer had come to Harrisville in its full in¬ 
tensity now and that long walk through the city 
and out beyond where there were neither build¬ 
ings nor trees to mitigate the ferocity of the sun 
left the boy rather limp. As on the first occasion, 
Mike held him up at the door, but, recognising 
him the next instant, passed him through un¬ 
suspectingly. Today practice was in full swing 
when he entered the enclosure. Mr. Milburn was 


254 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


batting grounders to the infield and the portly 
trainer was knocking up flies. No one paid any 
attention to Wayne, and he crossed to the bench 
in the shade of the right base stand and settled 
himself to watch. Perhaps yesterday’s victory 
had restored the manager’s good-humour, for he 
was quite a different despot this morning. He 
didn’t hesitate to criticise or find fault, but his 
criticisms were just, and his fault-finding ex¬ 
cusable. And he was quite as quick to praise as 
blame today. The players seemed in a merry 
mood and jokes and sallies passed from one to 
another across the diamond. Wayne’s first ac¬ 
quaintance, 44 Red” Herring, was limbering up 
his long arm, in company with the rest of the 
pitchers, at the other side of the field; Linton and 
Young catching. In deep right field, two painters, 
seated on a swinging scaffold, were dividing their 
attention between the sign they were at work on 
and the practice. 

Both Mr. Milburn and Mr. Slattery, the trainer, 
caught the balls as they were returned to them 
from the fielders, and now and then one got away 
from them. Presently a ball thrown to the trainer 
went wide and rolled nearly to the fence at the 
entrance. Being nearer than Mr. Slattery, Wayne 
went after it and tossed it back. The trainer ac¬ 
cepted it without comment, swung his bat and 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


255 


sent it flying out into the field again. When it 
came in again, however, it passed well out of the 
trainer’s reach and that individual, turning with 
an exclamation of disgust, saw it, to his surprise, 
bound into the hands of Wayne. Unseen of the 
trainer, Wayne had signalled to the fielder with 
upraised hand. Mr. Slattery grunted, accepted 
the ball and sent it sailing forth again. After 
that it was Wayne who caught the throw-in each 
time, taking it on the bound, and who tossed it 
lightly to the batter. The latter accepted the 
service silently, doubtless glad to have it per¬ 
formed for him and not troubling about the per¬ 
former’s identity. But, looking across to the plate 
once, Wayne found Manager Milburn observing 
him curiously, perhaps wondering where he had 
seen him before. That the manager did not re¬ 
member him seemed evident a few minutes later 
when the players were called in and someone re¬ 
ported that the second base bag had broken away. 
Mr. Milburn called to the trainer. 

4 ‘ Jimmy, send in and get a new strap for the 
second base bag,” he directed. ‘‘Jones says it’s 
broken.” And when Jimmy Slattery turned to 
waddle back to the dressing-room he added: 
4 ‘Send your helper, Jimmy, and you take them 
over to the nets.” 

“This feller?” asked Jimmy viewing Wayne 


256 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

doubtfully. “You know where they are?” he 
inquired. 

“I’ll find them, sir,” said Wayne. 

“Well, get one, then, like a good feller,” said 
Jimmy, “and slip it on the second bag.” 

Wayne entered the shed and looked around. 
There was a table in the first half-lighted room, 
and a half-dozen ticket boxes in a row on the 
floor. The table held a telephone instrument, 
some newspapers, a blotting-pad that looked as 
though it had been unchanged for many years and 
a litter of miscellaneous articles. But there were 
no base straps there and Wayne penetrated to the 
next apartment. This was evidently the dressing- 
room, for one side was lined with wooden lockers, 
most of them open and displaying the street cos¬ 
tumes of the players, and on the other side were 
half a dozen showers. Two bare tables occupied 
the centre. Three wooden benches about com¬ 
pleted the furnishings. One of the benches held 
a pile of towels and a box which, containing bottles 
and rolls of tape and gauze, exhaled a strong 
odour of liniment. But still there were no straps 
and Wayne returned to the outer room and was 
about to acknowledge defeat when his eyes fell 
on a closet. Although its door was closed, the 
key was in the lock, and when he had pulled it open 
he found what he was after. There were all sorts 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 257 

of things in that closet: base bags, bats, boxes 
of balls, masks, chest protectors, boxes whose con¬ 
tents he could only guess at, and, finally, a lot of 
straps depending from a nail. Wayne took one 
of the latter, closed the door as he had found it 
and went out again. 

Everyone had crossed to the further side of 
the field where the batting-nets stood, and Wayne 
took the strap down to second base and pro¬ 
ceeded to fix it in place. When he had finished 
and had secured the bag to its spike he went 
over to Jimmy Slattery, who was coaching the 
batters at the nearer net, and held out the 
broken strap. “What shall I do with this?” he 
asked. 

“Huh?” asked Jimmy. “Oh, throw it away, 
kid. Want a job?” 

“Yes,” answered Wayne truthfully. 

“Get out there then and chase some of those 
balls,” directed the other. 

So Wayne went down the field, discarded his 
jacket and placed it against the fence and got 
to work. It was work, too, for only three of the 
players were fielding and they were quite content 
to let Wayne run after the hits that went over 
their heads or got past them. Now and then 
Wayne had the fun of trying for a fly. When he 
did he usually got it, although he started out 


258 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

with a muff that brought ironical remarks from 
the others. 

“Open your mouth and let it fall in,” called 
Fawcett. 

“Put your hands up,” advised Briggs fa¬ 
cetiously, 44 and see will the ball hit ’em, kid!’ ’ 

But Wayne only smiled as he trotted after the 
elusive sphere and threw it to the nearer fielder. 
The next time the ball did hit his hands and, 
moreover, stayed in them, and Briggs was ready 
with a cheerful “’Ata boy! Squeeze it!” After 
that, by common consent, a fly that passed over 
the heads of the three players was left to Wayne 
undisputed. 

44 Say, Win,” called Briggs once, “you’ll be 
losing your job first thing you know. The kid’s 
clever!’ 9 

At first Wayne threw to Briggs or Fawcett or 
the third fielder, Leary, and let them peg the 
ball back to the pitcher, but presently, when he 
had stopped a grounder well in, he took courage 
and threw the ball in himself and threw it so well 
that Fawcett turned and regarded him with new 
interest. 

44 Can you do that every time, stranger!” in¬ 
quired the substitute outfielder. “’Cause, if 
you can, you’d better strike the boss for a 
job!” 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 259 

After a while Fawcett, Briggs, and Leary went 
in to take their turns at the net and a new trio 
came out to field. One was “Sailor’’ O’Neill, the 
left fielder, and “Sailor,” sauntering out toward 
Wayne, observed him curiously. 

4 ‘Where’d you come from, kid?” he asked. 

“Medfield,” replied Wayne. 

“Steve signed you on, has he?” 

“Not yet.” 

“Is he going to? Are you the fellow ‘Red’ was 
telling me about?” 

“I reckon so,” was the answer. “Mr. Farrel 
sent me here for a try-out, but Mr. Milburn says 
he don’t need me.” 

“Huh! One of Chris’ finds, eh? Well, he 
picks a good ’un now and then; about once in 
three years. Keep after him, kid. He’ll come 
across all right.” 

Further conversation was interrupted by a 
sizzling grounder that reminded “Sailor” of his 
duties. 

The morning’s work-out ended with practice 
on the bases and Wayne went back to the bench. 
He didn’t have it to himself now, for Jimmy 
Slattery, very warm and puffing from his recent 
exertions, was there, as were four of the pitching 
staff, “Hop” Nye amongst them. “Hop” recog¬ 
nised Wayne and nodded. The others viewed him 


260 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


with mild curiosity. Only Jimmy challenged his 
presence there. 

“How do you happen to be in here, kid?” he 
asked when Wayne had seated himself on the 
bench. 

“I’m waiting for a try-out,” answered the boy 
as casually as he could. “Mr. Farrel sent me.” 

“Oh.” But the trainer was still evidently puz¬ 
zled. After a minute, spent in surreptitious ex¬ 
amination of the boy, he inquired with a trace of 
sarcasm: “And what might you be? A pitcner 
or a catcher or what?” 

“Infielder, sir. Second baseman, for choice.” 

“Huh! You’ve got a choice, have you? That’s 
fine! What’s the boss say?” 

“He hasn’t decided yet.” 

Nye, who had overheard the conversation, 
leaned forward and spoke to the trainer. “He’s 
all right, Jimmy,” said “Hop.” “Chris sent him 
up and Steve won’t give him a look-over. Says 
he won’t, anyway. What’s your name, kid?” 

“Sloan, sir.” 

“Well, Sloan, you take my advice and keep 
right after him. You’ll have to if you want to 
get anything out of him. Ain’t that so, Jimmy?” 

“It’s true as true, my boy. I don’t see, though, 
what for Chris Farrel sent us an infielder. Can 
you hit the ball any?” 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


261 


“I—yes, sir, a little. 

“A little won’t get yon anything, my boy. 
What the boss is lookin’ for is fellers as can swing 
on ’em hard. Still and all, I ain’t saying you 
mightn’t develop if Steve’ll take you on. Who 
was you playing with last?” 

“Medfield,” answered Wayne. 

“Medfield? I never heard of them,” pondered 
the trainer. 

“It’s an amateur team, sir.” 

“Ah, that’s it, eh? You’re one o’ them 
gentlemen amaclioors, are you? Well, Joe, 
here, was one o’ them things himself till I found 
him. ’Twas me that rescued him from a life of 
crime.” 

Joe Casey turned a tanned countenance and 
grinned along the bench. “When you found me, 
Jimmy,” he said, “I was playin’ with a bunch 
that knew baseball, take it from me. That team 
could give us two runs an inning and beat us with¬ 
out trying.” 

“Yah!” said Jimmy disdainfully. “Listen to 
him, fellers! When I first set my eyes on that 
guy he was playing toss with a bunch of these 
here Willie Boys, and all dolled up in fancy togs 
like a moving-picture hero! Wore a silk shirt, 
he did! And every time he steps gracefully to 
the box a lot of his sissy friends waves little 


262 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


pink flags and cheers right out loud for him! 
Say, believe me, fellers, it was killing!” 

“That’s all right,” responded Casey, with a 
laugh. “That same bunch of Willie Boys could 
play ball some! We were the champs three years 
running, old scout!” 

“I know, but them girls’ schools is easy to 
beat,” replied Jimmy, with a wink at Wayne. 
The others on the bench laughed and Jimmy 
pulled himself to his feet. “Kid,” he said, “if 
you want a try-out you’ve got to make the boss 
think you’re good. Tell him you fielded for a 
thousand and batted for seven hundred. He 
won’t believe you, but he might be curious to see 
how you stack up. And keep after him, laddie. ’ ’ 

4 ‘ Thank you, ’ ’ answered Wayne. ‘ * I mean to. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XX 


JUNE GOES TO WORK 

But Wayne did not approach Manager Milburn 
that day. Somehow the occasion failed to present 
itself, and, while determined to overcome the 
other’s resistance by perseverance, he did not 
want to start out by making a nuisance of himself. 
Save that he became slightly acquainted with 
several other members of the Harrisville Club 
that morning, he could not be said to have made 
much progress. He wanted very much to see that 
final game with Doncaster in the afternoon, but 
it meant the price of two dinners approximately, 
since it didn’t even occur to him to go without 
June. He had to be satisfied with reading about 
it in the late edition of the evening paper and 
was vastly disappointed when he learned that the 
Billies had fallen on Joe Casey in the eighth and 
driven him to cover, scoring four hits and two 
runs and securing a lead that the home team had 
been unable to overcome. Herring had finished 
in the box for Harrisville and had held the op¬ 
ponent safe, but the damage had been done by that 
time and the final score read 7 to 6. Doncaster 
263 



264 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

had, consequently, split even on the series and 
incidentally reduced Harrisville’s lead in the 
league standing to eight games. Damascus had 
won again that day from Utica and slipped into 
second place. Wayne concluded that it would be 
well to wait until Harrisville had won her next 
game before presenting himself again to Mr. 
Milburn. 

A single line under the caption “With the 
Amateur Clubs” announced: “At Medfield; 
Chenango, 14, Atlas A. A., 2.” Something rather 
like a pang of homesickness went through him 
then and he almost wished himself back in Med¬ 
field. He wrote a letter to Arthur Pattern that 
night before going to bed and sent his new 
address. 

Sunday was a quiet and rather dull day for the 
boys. They went for a walk in the afternoon and 
explored the city pretty well, but the only incident 
of interest occurred when Sam made the mistake 
of underrating the fighting ability of a large 
gray cat and returned sadder and wiser after an 
encounter in an alley. Tabby had clawed his nose 
most thoroughly and Sam had to whimper a little 
and be sympathised with before the journey con¬ 
tinued. By getting up late that morning and 
dressing very leisurely they managed to make 
breakfast and dinner suffice in the way of meals, 


265 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 

thus saving twenty cents. (The saving would 
have been thirty cents had not June fallen victim 
to the fascination of a chocolate eclair and Wayne , 
squandered another nickel on a Sunday paper.) 

On Monday Wayne went back to the ball park 
and again served as utility man, catching throw- 
ins for Jimmy Slattery and backing up the fielders 
during batting practice. He was rapidly becom¬ 
ing an accepted feature of the morning work and 
the players, most of whom had by this time heard 
his story, were very friendly toward him, “Red” 
Herring especially. Practice lacked vim this 
morning, and the manager, while he gave no such 
exhibition of temper as he had displayed Friday, 
was plainly disgruntled. Wayne took pains to 
keep out of his way, but he was haunted by a feel¬ 
ing that Mr. Milburn’s lack of recognition was 
only assumed. Once Wayne surprised the 
manager observing him with an expression that, 
while not unfriendly, was decidedly ironical. He 
wondered then whether Mr. Milburn had recog¬ 
nised him Saturday. Somehow he rather thought 
he had! 

Practice again ended without any apparent ad¬ 
vancement of Wayne’s fortunes, for he had by 
now determined that when he again broached the 
subject of that try-out to the manager it should 
be after Harrisville had won a game and while 



266 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

Mr. Milburn was in the best of humours. To 
bring the matter up at the wrong moment might, 
he suspected, result disastrously. Although 
Wayne was unacquainted with the phrase, it was 
the psychological moment that he waited for. 
Besides, there was another thing that he was 
banking on, and that was the return to Harris- 
ville of Chris Farrel. It seemed to him that 
Chris could easily secure that try-out if only he 
would put in his appearance. But inquiry that 
morning of Jimmy Slattery was not encouraging. 
Jimmy didn’t know when Chris would get back. 
He had heard that th£ scout was working his way 
south as far as Maryland. He might be back 
tomorrow or next week. He came and went about 
as he saw fit, a fact which Jimmy, for some reason 
not apparent to Wayne, seemed to resent. 

Damascus had no trouble winning that Monday 
game. Herring started in the box for the Badgers 
but lasted only three innings and was succeeded 
by Tommy Cotton. In the seventh Cotton re¬ 
signed and Nick Crane took up the task. Harris- 
ville played rather poorly, Wayne learned from 
the evening paper. At all events, Damascus 
gathered in the contest to the tune of 4 to 0. 

Tuesday’s work-out went with a new dash and 
vigour, and the batting practice lasted twice as 
long as usual. It was freely given out that Mr. 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 267 

Milburn intended to win a majority of those four 
games, which meant that the Badgers must take 
the remaining three. That afternoon “Red” 
Herring again started the performance and this 
time he went through without a hitch, and, al¬ 
though the home club failed again to win renown 
with their sticks, the game went to the Badgers 
2 to 1. Wayne was tempted to try his fortunes 
with Mr. Milburn that evening, but discretion held 
him back. If the Badgers took tomorrow’s game 
perhaps he would risk it. Or maybe it would be 
still safer to wait until the Badgers had secured 
their three out of four. That is, if they did. 
They had got back their eight-game lead again, 
but Doncaster had won both games of a double 
header with Trenton and was now tied for second 
place, and it was no secret that Manager Milburn 
feared the Billies more than the Damascus club. 

Wayne got a reply from Jim Mason that after¬ 
noon. Jim was all for having Wayne give up and 
come back to his job. Perhaps he had read more 
in the boy’s letter than Wayne had intended him 
to. “I haven’t got any new fellow in your place 
yet,” wrote Jim, “and I won’t if you say you’re 
coming back. I can get along for another week 
I guess but you better write and say you are 
coming back so I will know whether to expect you 
or not. The missis is well and so is Terry. He 


268 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


sends you his love and says please come back to 
see him. We are not very busy right now but 
last week they dumped a string of foreigns on me 
and I had a tough time getting shut of them. 
Terry says tell you the chicken with the twisted 
leg up and died on him the other day. So no 
more at present.’’ 

Wayne was strongly tempted after reading 
Jim’s letter to see Mr. Milburn then and there 
and, if he still refused, to go back to Medfield 
on the first train in the morning. Perhaps it was 
a chance remark of June’s, as much as anything 
else, that kept him from yielding to that tempta¬ 
tion. 

“I sure does like this yere Ha’isville,” declared 
June that evening at supper. “Wouldn’ go back 
to that little ol’ Medfield if they ask me, no, sir!” 

“You wouldn’t!” asked Wayne. “Why, 
June!” 

“’Cause this is a regular white man’s town, 
Mas’ Wayne. Livin’s cheap an’ fine, an’ folkses 
is fine, an’ there’s somethin’ goin’ on all the time. 
An’ if I wanted to, Mas’ Wayne, I could get me 
a job in no time at all, I could so, yes, sir.” 

“What kind of a job, June!” 

June waved a fork vaguely but grandly. 4 ‘ Any¬ 
thin ’ at all,” he answered. “I met up with a 
nigger blacks boots at that yere Congress House 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 269 

yon-all was tellin’ about an’ he say he can get me 
a job there tomorrow if I wants it, yes, sir.” 

i ‘As bell boy?” 

“Yes, sir, an’ it don’ cost me but four bits.” 

“Who gets the four bits, June?” 

‘ 6 This yere nigger I’m tellin ’ you about. That ’s 
his commission.” 

“Oh, he wants a half-dollar for getting you the 
job, you mean?” Wayne was silent a moment. 
Then: “June, that’s where Mr. Milburn lives,” he 
said thoughtfully. 

“Yes, I ’member you tellin’ me that.” 

“I wonder-” Wayne’s voice dwindled off 

again to silence. At last: “Would you like to 
take that job, June?” he asked. 

“Not if you-all don’ want me to, Mas’ Wayne. 
I ain’ complainin’ none. ’Course, ain’ much to 
do ’cept hang aroun’-” 

“You go there tomorrow and grab it,” said 
Wayne. 

“Hones’? You ain’ mindin’ if I do?” 

“No, I’d rather you did, June. You might— 
I don’t see how you could, exactly—but you 
might-” 

“Yes, sir, Mas’ Wayne?” 

“Well, you just might be able to help me, 
June, if you were at the Congress House. Sup¬ 
pose, for instance, I wanted to see Mr. Milburn 



270 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

and the clerk wouldn’t let me up. If you sort of 
made his acquaintance and got friendly with 
him-” 

“Lawsy-y-y! Ain’ that the truth? Mas’ 
Wayne, I goin’ make that yere Mister Manager 
jus’ love me, yes, sir! I goin’ be so nice an’ ’ten- 
tive to him-” 

“Go ahead,” laughed Wayne. “Make him love 
you so much that he will give me a place on the 
team, June.” 

“That’s jus’ what I’m aimin’ to do,” replied 
June, showing all his teeth in a broad grin. “You 
jus ’ wait till I gets me acquainted with that Mister 
Man. I—I goin’ put a conjur on him, yes, sir!” 

The next morning June departed, armed with 
his “four bits” and his ingratiating smile in the 
direction of the Congress House and Wayne saw 
him no more until supper time. Wayne spent 
the forenoon at the ball grounds making himself 
useful. Today his duties included catching 
“Red” again. Linton did not show up and as 
Young couldn’t attend to more than three of the 
pitchers Herring found a mitt for Wayne and 
towed him across to the third base side of the 
field and ranged him alongside Catcher Young. 

“You take the other fellers, Dan,” said “Red.” 
“I got me a catcher.” 

Wayne was a little embarrassed and awkward at 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


271 


first, but by the time “Red” was getting warmed 
up and putting speed into the ball he was so 
interested that he forgot all self-consciousness. 
“Red” was feeling in fine form this morning, pos¬ 
sibly as a result of yesterday’s game, and some of 
his deliveries were hard to judge. There was a 
“jump ball” in particular that always caused 
Wayne anxiety until it had settled into his mitten. 
Crane, Nye, and Cotton, who were pitching to 
Young, and Young, too, for that matter, observed 
the emergency catcher with interest. It was 
“Hop” who asked presently: “You and Steve got 
together yet, kid!” 

“Not yet,” replied Wayne cheerfully, rolling 
the ball from mitt to hand and tossing it back to 
Herring. “There’s no hurry, I reckon.” 

“Better not leave it too long,” advised Cotton. 
“Chris Farrel’ll be sending another rookie along 
first thing anyone knows. He’s a great one for 
that sort of thing.” 

“Oh, Chris is all right,” said Herring. “He dis¬ 
covered Cob Morgan and Bee Bennett, didn’t he? 
And I sort of guess they ain’t so poor.” 

“Chris makes about one lucky guess in ten,” 
observed Pitcher Crane, “but maybe that’s a good 
average. I don’t know.” 

“You twirling this afternoon, Nick?” asked 
Herring. 


272 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


“I guess so. The boss is crazy to cop the next 
two games.’ ’ 

“Don’t look like it,” said Cotton innocently. 
“You’d think he’d put a good pitcher in today.” 

Crane only smiled. Nick, in the words of the 
Harrisville baseball scribes, was the “dean of 
the pitching corps,” and didn’t have to answer 
such aspersions. Just then Manager Milburn 
summoned Herring to take Casey’s place on the 
mound and Wayne was for removing his mitt. 
Young, however, suggested his taking Nye off 
his hands and Wayne assented. “Hop” w T as easy 
after Herring, for he used straight balls a good 
deal and although they came like lightning they 
were far easier to judge than “Red’s” eccentric 
slants. Later, when the players moved to the 
nets, Wayne encountered another of Manager 
Milburn’s sarcastic glances, but he didn’t mind. 
As long as the manager didn’t object to his being 
on the field during practice Wayne was for the 
present satisfied. 

That afternoon he received a letter, forwarded 
from Medfield, that brought his heart into his 
mouth as he read the postmark and recognized 
the writing. It was from his stepfather, and for 
a moment Wayne hesitated to open it, fearing that 
it was a summons home. But it wasn’t. Mr. 
Higgins was brief and decided. “Understand,” 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


273 


he wrote, “that this is your doing and not mine. 
Don’t come home here expecting me to take you 
in again for I won’t. And don’t apply to me for 
money. You won’t get any. You will have to 
get along by your own efforts. I hope you will 
do so, but nothing I have ever seen of you leads 
me to expect it.” 

“It sounds a heap like him,” murmured Wayne, 
thrusting the letter back into its envelope. “He 
never did think I was any good, anyway. But 
I’ll show him. And he needn’t be afraid of my 
going back or asking him for money, because I 
wouldn’t, not if I was starving to death! ’ ’ Wayne 
clenched his hands tightly and frowned at the 
letter. Then the frown faded and gave place to 
a satisfied smile. “Anyway,” he said to himself, 
“he isn’t going to try to get me back, and that’s 
a load off a fellow’s mind!” 


CHAPTER XXI 


MR. MILBURN PROMISES 

June took a shining half-dollar from his pocket 
and slipped it along the counter. Wayne ex¬ 
amined it questioningly. 

“ Mister Milburn done give me that,” chuckled 
June. “An’ all I done was jus’ fetch him some 
seegars from the news-stand.” 

“You mean he tipped you a whole half-dollar 
for that?” marvelled Wayne. 

June nodded. “Yes, sir, that’s all I done. He 
say, ‘Boy, fetch me two seegars from the news¬ 
stand. Tell them they’s for Mister Milburn an’ 
they’ll know what you want.’ An’ he give me a 
dollar bill an’ they was seventy-five cents change 
an’ he say, ‘Where you come from? I ain’ seen 
you before, has I?’ An’ I say, ‘No, sir, you ain’. 
I’m the new bell boy, sir, an’ anytime you wants 
anythin’ done partic’lar jus’ you asks for June.’ 
He sorter laughed an’ say as how he’s goin’ 
remember, an’ asks me where did I come from, 
an’ I tell him I come from Colquitt County, 
Georgia, an’ he say he knows Colquitt County 
’cause he was to a trainin’ camp down thataway 
274 



SECOND BASE SLOAN 


275 


once.” June paused long enough to transfer some 
of the contents of his plate to his mouth, and then, 
heedful of his companion’s mandate regarding 
conversation and a full mouth, waited another 
moment before continuing. “We got on fine, him 
an’ me, Mas’ Wayne. He’s a right sociable gen’le- 
man, yes, sir.” 

Wayne laughed. “I reckon that half-dollar was 
for your conversation, June, and not for the er¬ 
rand. Did you tell him you came here from 
Medfield!” 

June shook his head innocently. “He ain’ ask 
me that.” 

“Well, you made a good start. Do you like the 
work, June?” 

“Yes, sir, it’s a right promisin’ place. Lot’s 
o’ free-spendin’ gen’lemen at that yere hotel. 
Reckon I’m goin’ do better’n I did at the Union. 
I gets four dollars a week. They works you 
longer, though, ’cause I got to get there at six in 
the mornin’ an’ I don’ get through till six in the 
evenin’.” 

“Why, that’s twelve hours, June!” 

“Yes, sir, but the more I’m aroun’ there the 
more I’m goin’ to put in my jeans. I made a 
dollar an’ ten cents today, Mas’ Wayne; an’ I’d 
a done better’n that if them other boys hadn’ 
tried to friz me out. There’s four of them, an’ 


276 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

one’s a big yaller boy with a mean disposition. 
I reckon,” June added thoughtfully, 4 ‘I’ll jus’ 
have to lam him good before he quits foolin’ with 
me!” 

“You’d better not,” cautioned Wayne. “This 
isn’t Medfield, and they might fire you if they 
found you fighting.” 

“They ain’ goin’ to fin’ me. I’m goin’ do 
it where they won’ know nothin’ about it. How 
come them other gen’lemen pesker us like they 
done today, Mas’ Wayne?” 

“What other gentlemen? Oh, you mean the 
Damascus club. We just couldn’t hit them any 
more than they could hit us, June. You see Mr. 
Milburn pitched Nick Crane and so the Damascus 
manager put in Woodworth, their best man, and 
it was a pitchers’ battle right through the whole 
eleven innings. If Bennett hadn’t stolen home 
from third with two out in the eleventh I reckon 
they’d be playing yet. I’d like to have seen that 
steal. It must have been a dandy!” 

“Sure must! That gives us three games to 
their two, don’ it? Beckon we’ll win the one 
tomorrow, Mas’ Wayne?” 

“I don’t know. I heard that they’re going to 
use a fellow named Ripley, and they say he’s al¬ 
most as good as Woodworth. He’s a spit-ball 
pitcher. ’ ’ 


277 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 

“I ain’ never see nobody pitch one of them 
yere spit-balls,’’ said June. “Who goin’ pitch 
for us, sir?” 

“I suppose it will be Nye. It’s his turn, I think. 
Either Nye or Cotton. I reckon if Damascus 
plays the way she played today tomorrow’s game 
is going to be worth seeing.” 

“Why don’ you-all go an’ see it, Mas’ Wayne?” 

“Can’t afford it, June. We’ve been here a 
week now and-” 

“You ain’ got to ’ford it,” chuckled June. 
“Mister Milburn say if I want to see a game jus’ 
let him know an’ he goin’ pass me in. I’ll ask 
him about it tomorrow an’ you can take the 
ticket.” 

“He wouldn’t want you to give it to anyone 
else, June. Maybe I’ll try walking in past Mike 
at the players’ gate. I don’t believe he would 
stop me, and I don’t believe anyone would mind, 
because I’ve helped a good deal out there in the 
mornings, June.” 

“Sure you has, Mas’ Wayne! You got a per- 
fec’ly good right to see them games, yes, sir.” 

Wayne exhibited his stepfather’s letter then 
and June, after he had slowly puzzled through it, 
snorted with disgust. “Ain’ that like him, Mas’ 
Wayne, sir? Ain’ it jus’ like him? Firs’ thing 
he thinks of is money! I can’ ever say jus’ what 


278 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


I thinks of that gen’leman ’cause he’s a sort o’ 
relation o’ yours, Mas’ Wayne, hut I certainly 
does do a heap o’ thinkin’!” 

“Anyway, he intends to let me alone, June, and 
that’s what I wanted. As for money, why, he 
will have to give me some when I’m twenty-one 
because mother left me almost twelve hundred 
dollars and he only has it in trust.” 

“Reckon he ain’ wishin’ for you-all to remem¬ 
ber that,” replied June, shaking his head. “An’ 
if I was you, Mas’ Wayne, I’d write to Lawyer 
Ackerman an’ tell him to keep a mighty sharp 
watch on that yere stepdaddy of yours, yes, sir!” 

“He can’t very well run off with the farm, 
June,” laughed Wayne, “and as long as 
that’s there I reckon I can always get my 
money. ’ ’ 

June was passing along the second floor corri¬ 
dor of the Congress House the next morning, 
laden with a number of empty ice-water pitchers 
and crooning a song, when a door opened and 
Mr. Milburn confronted him. 

“Boy! Run down and get me a Philadelphia 
paper. Any one will do. Oh, is that you, 
January?” 

“No, sir, Mister Milburn, I ain’ January yet, 
sir; I’m jus’ June.” 

“Well, all right, June,” chuckled the manager. 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 279 

“Hustle up that paper. I’ve got a dime here 
that’s looking for a home.” 

“Yes, sir, don’ you do nothin’ with it till I 
returns,” answered June, sprinting for the stairs. 

When he came back and knocked on the door 
and was told to enter Mr. Milburn was seated at 
a table clipping things from various newspapers 
and pasting them in a huge scrapbook. “That’s 
the boy,” he said, “and here’s your dime, June, t 
How did they come to call you June, eh?” 

“’Tain’ really June, sir, it’s Junius; Junius 
Brutus Bartow Tasker is my full name, Mister 
Milburn.” 

“ 4 Full’ is good! Going out to see my hoys 
play today, Junius Brutus And-so-forth?” 

“I can’ get off today, sir, but I got a friend that 
would like powerful much to see that game.” 

“Oh, I’m not proposing to supply your friends 
with tickets, boy. Hasn’t this friend got a 
quarter?” 

“Yes, sir, but he’s needin’ all the quarters he’s 
got, jus’ like me, sir.” 

“Oh, all right.” Mr. Milburn produced a slip 
of paper and scrawled a hurried signature on it. 
“There you are. Tell him to show that to the 
man at the ticket office and he will fix him out. 
Haven’t you seen my club play yet?” 

“Once, Mister Milburn. We seen ’em lick those 


280 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


Billies last—last Friday, I reckon it was. An’ 
we seen some ball playin’! Yes, sir, we surely 
did so!” 

“Who are ‘we’? You and this friend of 
yours ?’ 9 

“Yes, sir. He ain’ exac’ly a friend, though.” 

“Isn’t he?” Mr. Milburn turned the pages of 
the paper June had brought him and hurriedly 
scanned them. “Isn’t an enemy, is he?” 

“No, sir, he’s—he’s my boss.” 

“Your boss? What do you mean by that?” 
The manager dropped the paper to the floor, 
glanced at his watch and turned an amused gaze 
on the boy. 

“Well, sir, he’s Mas’ Wayne Sloan, sir, an’ the 
Sloans is quality down in Colquitt County. You 
see, Mas’ Wayne’s mother she up an’ die ’bout 
three-four years ago an’ this yere stepdaddy of 
his ain’ no earthly ’count, no, sir, he ain’. He 
jus’ pesker Mas’ Wayne somethin’ fierce till him 
an’ me we jus’ lit out an’ come up North here.” 

‘ 6 Sloan ? ’ ’ inquired Mr. Milburn. ‘‘ He’s a white 
boy, then?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Sloan, eh? Look here, that isn’t the kid that 
Farrel sent to me for a try-out, is it? A dark¬ 
haired chap with-” 

“Yes, sir, that’s Mas’ Wayne. How come 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 281 

you-all ain’ given him that yere try-out yet, 
sir?” 

“Because he’s an infielder, June, and we don’t 
need infielders. I told him that days ago, but 
he’s still hanging around, I see.” 

“Yes, sir, we’re waitin’.” 

“Well, I’m afraid waiting won’t do him any 
good, June. You’d better tell him so. I like the 
kid’s perseverance, but he’s wasting his time. 
If he was a couple of years older and could play 
a little I’d give him a chance.” 

“Yes, sir, an’ I reckon he’s goin’ be a couple 
years older if you-all don’ hurry up!” June’s grin 
robbed the statement of offence. “Mister Mil- 
burn, please, sir, can I tell you somethin’?” 

“Go ahead, June.” 

“Well, sir, Mas’ Wayne’s surely one fine ball 
player,” said June earnestly, “an’ you-all ain’ 
actin’ sensible if you don’ grab him, sir.” 

“Oh, that’s just your idea of him, June,” was 
the good-natured reply. “We get dozens like him 
every spring, fellows fresh from high school or 
college who think that if they can hold a ball 
when it’s thrown to them they’re regular Big 
Leaguers.” 

“How come this yere Mr. Farrel done send him 
over here, sir?” 

4 ‘ Oh, Farrel plays it safe, June. He has instruc- 


282 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


tions to pick up anything that looks good and 
ship him over for me to see. But he isn’t 
supposed to rob the nurseries. We can’t use 
them until they’re grown up.” 

“Well, sir, seems like this yere Mister Farrel 
ain’ actin’ jus’ right. He done tell Mas’ Wayne 
how you goin’ give him a try-out an’ all, an’ Mas’ 
Wayne he give up his position in Medfield an’ 
now ain’ nothin’ ’tall come of it. It don’ seem 
jus’ right, sir, does it! Mas’ Wayne he ’lows 
we’s goin’ stay right here till he gets that yere 
try-out, yes, sir, but we ain’ got but about fifty 
dollars an’ that ain’ goin’ to last forever, is it! 
Please, sir, Mister Milburn, I wish you’d jus’ give 
him that ol’ try-out, sir, an’ then, if he don’ act 
good, we knows where we’re at! Couldn’ you 
jus’ do that, please, sir!” 

The manager frowned impatiently, slapped the 
scrapbook shut, opened it again, and once more 
looked at his watch. June observed him anxiously 
but continued to smile. Perhaps it was that smile 
that decided the question, for Mr. Milburn saw it 
and the corners of his own mouth began to go up, 
and presently he laughed. 

“All right, June,” he said. “He shall have his 
try-out. Maybe tomorrow. By the first of the 
week, anyway. You can tell him so. And you 
can tell him he owes it to you. Mostly, at any 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


283 


rate.” The manager arose. 1 6 Maybe I’d have 
given it to him anyhow sooner or later, just to 
get rid of him!” he added grumblingly. He 
turned with pretended ferocity on June. “You 
got that dime, didn’t you!” he demanded. 

“Yes, sir, thanky, sir.” 

“Well, what are you waiting for then! Beat 
it! Get out of here before you think up any 
more hard-luck stories! Here, give me that 
pass!” 

June yielded it and the manager tore it in half 
and dropped the pieces on the floor. “Tell Sloan 
I said he was to go in the players’ gate. I guess 
he’s earned the right to see one game. Now get 
out of here, you black nuisance!” 

“Yes, sir,” replied June, grinning from ear to 
ear. “Thanky, sir. Hope you wins your game, 
sir.” 

“Hope you get your wish, June! You don’t 
happen to own a rabbit’s foot, do you! One of 
the lucky sort, I mean.” 

“No, sir, I ain’ got no rabbit’s foot, but you-all’s 
goin’ win today, Mister Milburn, yes, sir! I goin’ 
put a conjur on that yere game!” 

“You and your conjurs!” laughed the other. 
“We’ll see, though, and if we don’t win—well, 
you’d better keep out of my reach, boy.” 

“Yes, sir,” chuckled June from the doorway, 


284 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

“if we don , win I’m goin’ give you the whole 
sidewalk!” 

June, however, had no chance to give Mr. Mil- 
burn’s message to Wayne, for Wayne did not 
come around to the hotel and June’s duties pre¬ 
vented him from seeking him at noon hour. June 
got his dinners at the hotel, which meant a saving 
of thirty cents a day, but he wasn’t allowed much 
time to eat them in. Consequently it was with the 
intention of walking boldly past Mike, the gate- 
man, that Wayne started out for the field that 
afternoon. Yesterday’s close contest, and the fact 
that today’s encounter was the last with the 
Damascus club at Harrisville until after the home 
team’s swing around the circle which began next 
week, had combined to awaken a more than usual 
amount of interest in the afternoon’s game and 
the cars that buzzed and clanged their way past 
Wayne were filled to the running-boards. It was 
evident that the attendance at the park today 
would assume holiday proportions, and, too, that 
the railway company had, in spite of extra cars, 
failed to accommodate all who wanted to ride. 
Wayne had started early, hoping to get there 
about the time the players went in and trusting to 
the good offices of “Red” Herring or some other 
acquaintance to gain him admittance should Mike 
prove obdurate, but the players had passed him 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 285 

long ago in their car and it lacked but twenty 
minutes of starting time when he got within dis¬ 
tant sight of the park. 

It was then that he noticed that the trolley cars 
were blocked somewhere ahead. The passengers 
were jumping off and starting the rest of the 
journey afoot, but Wayne thought nothing of it 
until the imperative clang of an ambulance bell 
sounded on his ears and he turned to watch the 
vehicle dash hurriedly past, scattering pedestrians 
to right and left. Before Wayne had covered the 
next two squares, the ambulance passed again, 
speeding now in the direction of town, with a 
white-garbed doctor swaying on the steps. 

“Reckon someone got smashed up,” reflected 
Wayne, walking a little faster. The folks about 
him were audibly conjecturing on the accident but 
no one seemed to know anything about it, and it 
was not until Wayne had reached the corner of an 
intersecting street a square from the ball grounds 
that he learned the facts. The brakes on one of the 
cars had failed to work and, since there was a 
down-grade just here, it had crashed into the rear 
of a car ahead. The two cars were there for 
evidence, both badly crushed as to vestibules. 
A motorman and two passengers had been badly 
injured, Wayne heard, but no one had been killed. 
Several others had been shaken up, but, as 


286 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


Wayne’s informant added, with a smile, they had 
gone on into the ball game and so probably 
weren’t dangerously injured! That reminded 
Wayne of his own purpose and, after pushing his 
way forward for a curious view of the damaged 
cars, he hurried on again and sought the players’ 
gate. By now he had determined to see the game 
in any event. After walking all the way from 
town in the hot sun it would be silly to turn back, 
he told himself, and he jingled the few coins in 
his pocket reassuringly. 

The door in the high fence was closed but 
yielded readily to pressure and Wayne, looking as 
nonchalant as he knew how, stepped inside. Mike 
was standing a few yards away, talking with one 
of the ground-keepers and didn’t turn until he 
heard the creaking of the door as it went shut on 
its rusty hinges. When he did turn, though, 
Wayne saw an expression of lively interest on his 
face and paused irresolutely, so certain was he 
that Mike meant to deny him admittance. But 
Mike’s greeting was startlingly different from 
what Wayne expected. The door tender took a 
step toward him and jerked an impatient thumb 
over his shoulder. 

“Hurry up an’ get in there,” he said. “The 
boss is lookin’ for you!” 


CHAPTER XXII 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 

The succeeding quarter-hour was always 
strangely confused and indistinct in Wayne’s 
memory. Damascus was warming up on the 
diamond and Herring’s brilliant thatch showed 
above the corner of the stand as the boy’s gaze 
swept hurriedly toward the field ere he turned in 
at the dressing-room door. Doubtless others of 
the pitching staff were out there with “Red,” but 
most of the players were still standing around the 
office when Wayne entered. For the moment none 
saw. 

“This is what comes of keeping your salary 
list down!” Manager Milburn was declaring 
heatedly. “Lose two men and you’re shot to 
pieces! How does he expect me to win games 
with only enough players to cover the field? We 
have a right to twenty-two and he gives me nine¬ 
teen! LaCroix, you take first. You’ll have to 
play third, Jones, and Dan will play second. Hold 
on! You catch Nye, don’t you? That won’t do 
then. I’d better take second myself. Hustle out 
287 


288 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


now, fellows. We’ve just got to do the best we 
can and-” 

“Here’s your man now, Steve!” exclaimed 
someone, and Wayne, pausing doubtfully inside 
the doorway, embarrassedly found himself the 
target of all eyes. But it was for an instant only. 
The next thing he knew Steve Milburn had him 
by the arm and was dragging him forward. 

“Where have you been?” he was demanding 
irately. “I told that nigger boy of yours to send 
you out! Jimmy, hustle a uniform! Someone 
find me a contract form in the closet! Yellow box 
on the shelf!” He turned to Wayne. “Now, 
Sloan, you wanted a try-out and you’re going to 
get it,” he said grimly. “Jimmy’ll give you a 
uniform. Pile into it and—can you play third? 
Where have you played?” 

“Second, sir.” 

“Take it then! That lets me out!” 

“I can’t find any forms here, Boss,” sung out 
Briggs from the closet. 

“Never mind! This’ll do!” The manager 
dropped into the chair by the littered table, opened 
a drawer and pulled out a pad of paper and wrote 
hurriedly for a moment. And as he wrote he 
stabbed at Wayne with short sentences. “You got 
your chance! Show what you know, youngster! 
Make good and I’ll treat you white! Cap here 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 289 

will give you the dope. Do as he tells you. Now 
sign your name here. Witness this, Cap.” 

“Hurry up, kid, and climb into these,” called 
Jimmy Slattery from the dressing-room doorway. 

Wayne neither knew then nor later what he 
signed. Had there been time to read the half- 
dozen lines he could scarcely have done so, for Mr. 
Milburn’s writing was not the sort to be de¬ 
ciphered offhand. But he hardly tried. The 
manager pushed a pen into his hand, Captain 
Cross waited at his elbow and in thirty seconds he 
was hurrying toward the armful of togs that the 
trainer impatiently dangled at the door. Jimmy 
helped him change, or tried to help, and all the 
time dealt out advice freely, none of which Wayne 
afterward recalled. Five minutes later he was 
trotting out at the trainer’s heels, conscious of a 
thumping heart and of the fact that the shoes on 
his feet were at least a size too large for him. 
Then he was around the corner of the stand and 
Jimmy Slattery was pushing him in the general 
direction of second base. 

“Go ahead, kid, and good luck to you!” said 
Jimmy. “Keep your nerve!” 

But that was far easier said than done. The 
stands were crowded and a fringe of enthusiasts 
stood, three and four deep, inside the rope that 
had been stretched along the left field side of the 


290 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


enclosure. Balls were travelling back and forth, 
from base to base and base to plate, bewilder- 
ingly, while overhead the long flies arched to the 
outfield. As he passed in front of LaCroix, at 
first, the lantern-jawed, hook-nosed giant grinned 
as he speared a high throw, and almost in the 
same motion tossed it underhand to Wayne. 

4 ‘Chuck it in, Bill,” he directed. 

But if he thought to find Wayne asleep he was 
disappointed, for the boy wheeled and caught the 
descending ball and threw it to the plate. The 
throw was short and Steve Milburn barked across 
at him: 4 ‘Keep ’em up, Sloan!” Captain Cross 
met him and walked back with him to the trampled 
ground behind the base line. “I’ll take the throws 
from the plate, Sloan, but if I can’t get in for 
them it’s up to you. Anything’s yours this side 
of the bag, but don’t crowd LaCroix too much. 
I’ll give you the signals on the runners. Just 
keep steady and you’ll do all right, kid. Come on 
now! Get into it! ” 

Five minutes of fielding followed, Manager Mil- 
burn batting them out; hard liners that brought 
Wayne up standing when they slammed into his 
glove, slow rollers that sent him speeding nearly 
to the pitcher’s box, pop-flies that lost themselves 
for a moment in the glare of the sky, bounders that 
brought all his baseball instinct into play. On 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 291 

the whole, he did none too well during that prac¬ 
tice. More than one ball went past him or drib¬ 
bled out of his hands. Once he muffed a fly 
miserably. Twice he overthrew to first. After 
the muffled fly he caught the dubious expression 
on Captain Cross’ face and felt his heart sink. 
Here, he thought, was the chance he had waited 
and longed for, and now he was going to throw 
it away! But in the next moment he was grit¬ 
ting his teeth and thumping fist into glove de¬ 
terminedly. He wouldn’t! He could play far 
better than he had been playing! It was only the 
crowd and the unnerving knowledge that so much 
depended on this afternoon’s performance that 
accounted for his fumbles. If only they had let 
him practice just one morning, instead of thrust¬ 
ing him like this into a game at a moment’s notice! 
And then the bell sounded and they were trotting 
in to the bench. 

Manager Milburn beckoned to him and Wayne 
crossed to where he was standing in front of the 
little press box. Steve looked him over critically 
while Wayne, red-faced, dripping perspiration, 
waited. Finally: “How did it go?” asked the 
manager. 

Wayne smiled wanly. “Not very well, sir. I— 
I reckon I’m sort of nervous.” 

“Of course you are! You’ll forget that, though. 


292 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

Don't take it too hard, Sloan, or you'll pull a 
boner, sure as shooting. Keep cool, that's the 
main thing. Use your head all the time. I'm 
not expecting miracles, son," he added kindly. 
“ Just do your best. That's all I'm asking of you. 
Can you hit?" 

“I—yes, sir. I mean, I have hit some, but-" 

“All right. We'll soon see. Better try to wait 
him out the first time. Watch his pitching and try 
to make him give you what you can hit after that. 
All right, fellows! On the run!" 

Then the game started, Nye in the box for the 
Badgers, Dan Young catching, LaCroix on first 
in place of Morgan, Jones playing third for 
Bennett, and an unknown at second. The umpire 
had announced the latter's name as Sloan, or some¬ 
thing like that, but no one had ever seen him be¬ 
fore or heard of him. He was a well-set-up 
youngster and, in spite of the spills he had made 
during practice, carried himself like a ball player. 
The “fans" watched him and reserved judgment, 
asking each other how Steve had managed to get 
hold of him at less than a half-hour's notice. For 
it had been five minutes past three when the acci¬ 
dent had happened that had sent three of the 
Badgers' best players to the hospital, Bennett, 
as was learned later, with a broken leg, Morgan 
with three ribs caved in, and Pitcher Cotton with 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


293 


enough contusions to keep him out of the game for 
a week at least. Morgan, said that evening’s 
paper, would he back at work in a fortnight pos¬ 
sibly, but young Bennett was out of it for the rest 
of the year. 

Ripley occupied the mound for Damascus that 
afternoon, and was discouragingly effective. 
After 44 Hop” Nye had escaped punishment in the 
first half of the initial inning by the skin of his 
teeth, a fine stop of a possible two-bagger by 
Cross and a phenomenal catch of a long fly by 
O’Neill warding off disaster, Harrisville went in 
to be mowed down one, two, three by the elongated 
spit-ball artist of the visiting club. No one got 
the ghost of a hit in that inning or any other while 
Ripley was in the box; no one on the home team, 
that is. Damascus had better luck, touching up 
Nye for three hits with a total of five bases, but 
failing to score for all of that. The game went to 
the sixth a pitcher’s battle pure and simple, with 
Ripley getting the long end of it, both teams work¬ 
ing like beavers and not a runner passing second. 

Wayne’s opportunities to distinguish himself 
were few, for strike-outs were numerous. Four 
chances were accepted by him in the first five 
innings, but none was difficult. At the bat, he fol¬ 
lowed Manager Milburn’s advice the first time up 
and tried his best to work a pass. But Ripley 


294 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


was not generous that way and Wayne soon 
walked back to the bench with the umpire’s 
“He’s out!” in his ears. In the last of the fifth, 
with LaCroix on first base and none out, he had 
a second trial at the plate and, after getting in 
the hole, landed on a straight ball and smacked it 
squarely into third baseman’s hands. 

It was in the sixth inning that the ice was 
broken by Damascus. Before anyone realised it 
she had filled the bases with only one out. Nye 
was plainly wabbling and “Red” Herring and 
Nick Crane were warming up back of third. The 
Damascus left fielder landed on the first pitch 
and Cross got it on the bound and hurled it to 
the plate. But the throw was wide and, although 
Young made the catch, the runner was safe and 
Damascus had scored. She scored again a minute 
later when the following batsman flied out to short 
left, for the best “Sailor” O’Neill could do was 
to hold the next runner at third. With two gone, 
a hit out of the infield was imperative and the 
Damascus catcher tried his best to get it. That 
he didn’t was no one’s fault but Wayne’s, for he 
started the ball off his bat at a mile a minute and 
streaked down the base path, while the other 
bags emptied like magic. Four yards to the left 
of first base sped the ball, ascending as it went. 
LaCroix stabbed at it and missed it by inches and 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 295 

it was Wayne, who had started with the sound 
of the hit, who leaped into the air behind LaCroix 
and brought joy to the stands and sorrow to 
Damascus. That circus catch, for it was scarcely 
less, started Wayne on the road to fame, a fame 
at present presaged by cheers and hand-clapping 
as, somewhat embarrassed, he walked back to the 
bench. 

“Lift your cap,” chuckled Cross as he and 
Wayne neared the first base stand. “Where’s 
your manners, kid?” 

Wayne obeyed sketchily and dropped onto the 
bench aware of the amused glances of his team 
mates. From the other end Mr. Milburn nodded 
to him. “Good stop, Sloan,” he said. But that 
was all. 

Harrisville again failed to hit or score and the 
seventh began. Nye was derricked when he had 
passed the first man up and “Red” Herring 
ambled to the mound. “Red” was wild for a few 
minutes but then settled down and, after Young’s 
clever peg to Cross had retried the man from first, 
the inning was virtually over. A long fly to right 
and a stop and throw by Jones settled matters. 

The seventh witnessed a change of fortunes. 
“Sailor” O’Neill led off with a clean single and 
LaCroix advanced him to second and reached 
first safely. Ripley retired then and a left-hander 


296 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


named Marks took his place. Marks was a man 
of wide curves and slow delivery. Wayne tried 
desperately to get a hit but fanned, which, con¬ 
sidering that his advance to the plate had been 
greeted by applause, was horribly humiliating. 
But Leary found Marks for one, scoring O’Neill 
and putting LaCroix on third. Young died out to 
deep centre and LaCroix scored, Leary advancing. 
Herring smashed a liner to shortstop too hot to 
handle and Leary beat out the subsequent throw 
to the plate by inches. Cross hit safely but was 
doubled up with Briggs a few minutes later. 

Damascus came back in the first of the eighth 
and added another run, tying the score at three 
each. Herring passed the first man up and al¬ 
though he struck out the next two, a momentary 
let-down paved the way for a two-bagger and 
sent the tying tally across. A moment later a 
quick peg from Herring caught the runner at 
second a foot off the bag and brought relief to 
the anxious audience. 

Jones started the last of the eighth for Harris- 
ville by flying out to pitcher. O’Neill, undaunted, 
waited until the score was two-and-three and then 
busted the next offering through the infield for a 
long rolling hit that placed him on second and 
wrought the spectators to a frenzy of delight. 
LaCroix was up next and Wayne followed 






























































































SECOND BASE SLOAN 


297 


LaCroix. Wayne was wondering anxiously 
whether he would have better success this time. 
Already four hits had been made off Marks, prov¬ 
ing that he was far from formidable, and yet 
when Wayne, swinging his bats between bench 
and plate, saw LaCroix match his wits against 
Marks’ and come oft second best in the contest 
it seemed futile for him to hope to succeed. La¬ 
Croix swung at one and missed it, judged two 
balls wisely, fouled into the first base stand for a 
second strike and then let go at one and popped 
it nicely into shortstop’s glove. Wayne dropped 
one of the two bats he had been swinging and 
stepped to the rubber. 

Two out, a man on second and a run needed to 
break the tie! A hit, nothing less, was expected 
of Wayne, and he realised it. At first the thought 
was horribly disturbing. He heard the applause 
from the stands, less hearty this time, since he 
had failed them before, and it added to his 
tremors. He felt himself absurdly young and 
inexperienced and—yes, actually scared! He 
wished himself back on the bench, any place save 
where he stood, facing the pitcher with the 
muscles at the back of his legs trembling! They 
were talking to him and at him, his own side 
and the enemy, but what they said was confused 
and meaningless, and it was not until the Damas* 


298 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


cus catcher called down to his pitcher to “Fan the 
kid, Walt!” that any words registered on his 
brain. 

“Fan the kid!” That meant him. He didn’t 
mind being called a kid by his fellow players, but 
the catcher’s tone was a veiled insult, and some¬ 
thing very much like anger welled up in Wayne’s 
breast. He tugged down his visor, seized the bat 
more firmly, and determined to show them that a 
kid could hit! He made up his mind then and 
there to forget everything but the task in front 
of him, to even forget that there were already two 
out and that so much depended on him, and sud¬ 
denly, why he couldn’t have told, the certainty 
that he could hit possessed him firmly. 

Marks looked him over. He leaned forward to 
get the catcher’s signal. Then he stood for an 
instant and Wayne knew that he was undecided 
what to offer him. “I’ll have a good look at the 
first one,” Wayne told himself, “no matter what 
it is!” 

And when it came it was well worth looking at, 
for it was a nice curve over the corner of the 
plate and was a strike. 

“’Ata, boy!” called the Damascus catcher. 
“You’ve got him beaten, Walt.” But Wayne paid 
no heed. His conviction that he could hit that 
ball was still strong. He had watched the first 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


299 


offering all the way and had had no trouble keep¬ 
ing it in sight. Marks evidently thought his curve 
ball, an outcurve to a right-handed batter, had 
fooled the latter once and that he had better try 
it again. Wayne was ready for it and meant to 
try very hard to hook it low into right field. His 
guess was correct, for what came was the same 
sort of delivery. But it was a little lower and 
Wayne missed it and heard the second strike 
called on him. 

But even yet he was confident. With two strikes 
against him he still felt certain of getting that hit. 
It surely looked as if Marks had him in a hole, 
but Wayne somehow knew that he hadn’t. Fol¬ 
lowed then two wide ones, just outside the plate, 
and Wayne, expecting them, made no offer. He 
knew that Marks was tempting him to bite at 
them and resolutely held back. And then came 
the fifth delivery. 

It looked good as it left the pitcher’s hand. It 
was coming to Wayne about waist-high and he 
thought it would break toward him and drop a 
trifle. As it neared the plate he stepped to meet 
it, and when it broke he put all his strength into 
the lunge and tried to send it between first base- 
man and the bag. He met it hard and started 
with the crack of the bat. He saw the ball shoot¬ 
ing low inside the foul line, saw first baseman leap 


300 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 


toward it, and, digging harder than ever, saw 
the ball strike the bag and go bounding out into 
the field! 

He knew then that he was safe, knew that he 
had done what was expected of him, and was 
terrifically glad. As he turned first he saw second 
baseman standing idle and heard the voice of 
Steve Milburn in the coaching box yelling him on, 
and he legged it hard for second. He saw the ball 
coming in then, but the throw was to the plate and 
he slid to second unchallenged. As he got to his 
feet again he was fairly dismayed by the pande¬ 
monium that arose from the stands, and then, for 
the first time since he had determined to forget 
everything save the business of hitting the ball, 
he remembered O’Neill! 

Anxiously he looked to third. He was not there. 
But of course not! He had either scored or been 
put out at the plate! He turned to the Damascus 
shortstop. “Did you get him?” he asked. 

“No,” was the disgusted reply. “He was safe 
by a mile!” 

And then Wayne understood why the stands 
were cheering and roaring! Harrisville had 
scored! The Badgers were one run to the good! 

Gradually the babel of sound died away. Leary 
was at bat. Wayne led off, danced back again, 
keeping an eye on the shortstop, watching the 


SECOND BASE SLOAN 301 

pitcher as well, listening to warnings from the 
coachers. If only Leary would come through! 
But Leary failed. A sharp crack, a sudden leap¬ 
ing dive by second baseman as Wayne sped along 
the path, a left-hand toss to first and the inning 
was over, and Wayne, turning disappointedly back 
to his position, heard the cheers and clapping 
break forth afresh, and wondered! 

It was all over ten minutes later, all over, that 
is, but the shouting, and that didn’t last long 
after the Harrisville players scuttled from field 
to dressing-room. In the doorway, smiling 
broadly now, stood Mr. Milburn, and as Wayne 
pushed through with the rest the manager’s arm 
shot out and seized on his shoulder and dragged 
him aside. 

“I’m going to tear up that contract, Sloan,” he 
said. 

“Tear it up!” faltered Wayne. 

“Yes.” The manager’s eyes twinkled. “It 
wasn’t any good, anyway! Tomorrow I’ll have 
a new one ready for you. I’m going to sign you 
on to play second base, Sloan, at a hundred and 
ten a month. That suit you?” 

Wayne only nodded, but the expression on his 
face was answer enough. Mr. Milburn laughed 
and pushed him good-naturedly on. “All right! 
Sign up tomorrow morning, and-” 


302 SECOND BASE SLOAN 

But his remark was never finished, for just then 
there was an excited barking outside and a little 
yellow dog burst through the doorway and leaped 
at the boy. And following Sam appeared the 
grinning face of June. 

“Mas’ Wayne, sir, I hear down to the hotel as 
you-all’s playin,” panted June, “an’ I jus’ 
nachally had to come, sir! I reckon I done lose 
my job, but I ain’ carin’!” 

“Never mind your job,” laughed Wayne, as he 
picked Sam up in his arms. “You’ve got a new 
job after today, June.” 

‘ 4 Say I is? What I goin’ do, Mas’ Wayne?’’ 

“You’re going to look after me, June; and Sam. 
We’re going to find those rooms tomorrow and go 
to keeping house. We—we’re going to live like 
white folks again!” 

“Lawsy-y-y!” cried June. 


THE END 


















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